A Very Vincent Valentine Christmas
by bluebellfantasy
Summary: A FFVII spin on Charles Dickens classic, "A Christmas Carol." Vincent Valentine is a cold, lonely, hard man who has pushed his loved ones away, determined to live a life of solitude. But visits from three Spirits from the Lifestream show him that maybe, just maybe, he doesn't have to face it all alone.
1. An Old Friend Comes to Visit

**Author's Note: Hi, everyone! I hope you enjoy this little rendition of the classic Christmas story by Charles Dickens, _A Christmas Carol. _The idea came to me when I was watching one of the many versions of the story when I thought, "Vincent Valentine is a lot like Scrooge, in a way." The idea sprang from then on! I hope you all enjoy it :) **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy Seven. **

Lucrecia was dead, to begin with. Of course, Vincent Valentine knew that already – the thought repeated in his mind so often it had become a scourge. It had been...how many years? Everyone seemed to have lost count. Of course, Vincent did not. He was there when it happened, after all. He was the one who witnessed the poor woman's demise, the one who mourned her the most, the only one who seemed to notice and feel her absence. Not that he would ever let anyone know. He never let anyone know anything.

Lucrecia Crescent had gone to the Lifestream.

Everyone knew that when their time came to leave this Mother Earth, their soul returned to where it belonged: the Lifestream. The river of life that encircled the planet. Spirit Energy. Life itself. None knew where it came from, nor if it would ever go away. Everyone was blessed with it's spiritual energy prior to being born, and in death, it returns to the Stream. In a liquid form it could make incredible amounts of energy. Whatever it was called, all who listened knew what it was. Children were taught at their mother's knee about it. Of course there were some who forgot about it as they grew older, but some sort of spiritual belief within their heart remained.

It may not make sense to explain what the Lifestream is at this present moment. But, as the teller of this tale, I must ask you to keep in mind that Lucrecia Crescent was in fact dead, or else this whole story would be meaningless.

Vincent Valentine was….an odd duck. No, that is the wrong phrase completely – typical emo boy? A living vampire? A brooding heap of depression? A broken man with a broken soul? All of those would be correct. Standing over six feet tall, he seemed to cast a shadow upon everything around him (although the cloak he always wore could have been a contributor to that). His hair was long, tangled, darker than the deepest night and his eyes seemed to pierce the very soul. His skin was pallid, as if he hadn't seen sunlight in many years. No one ever saw him smile, none had heard him laugh. Little children often made up their silly little rhymes about Vincent, making sure to include his one metal forearm and hand. No one knew how he got it. There were constant rumors: a monster bit it off, he lost it in an accident, someone even said he chopped it off himself in a fit of madness.

Vincent didn't care; they could think what they wanted. He learned long ago not to care about what anyone thought, both as a protection and as a restraint. Wherever he walked, mothers would grab their children, streets would grow quiet, and a chill would come into the air even on hot days. Everyone knew by the little _clink-clink _of his metal boots that Vincent "Vampire" Valentine was near.

He was the very definition of a "lone wolf," which is why the few friends he had – whether he really considered them his actual "friends" no one knew – tried _everything _to get him to do things with them. Whether it was a night drinking at Tifa's bar, the Seventh Heaven, taking a small weekend trip to Cosmo Canyon, or even Cid's incredulous idea of making his own rocket fuel one time, Vincent always refused. And no matter of convincing, coaxing and even bargaining could get him to go.

Which is where our story begins. It was Christmas Eve, and even the Midgar slums seemed to have taken on that magical air that only comes during the holidays. Snow covered the ground outside, children's cheeks were flushed with both cold and delight, laughter and shouts of overall happiness rang through the streets. Even those who were normally careless and rude seemed to make an effort to be polite to others.

Except Vincent, who at this time was doing his usual routine of target practicing, brooding, and reading his usual true crime novels. There wasn't much else he really enjoyed doing anymore. He would only be in Midgar for a few days at the very most; someone had placed a call to him offering him a job. Both for the sake of needing money and the winter weather making him antsy, he accepted. He was supposed to meet them tomorrow.

Did he tell anyone he knew that he was going to be in town? Of course not. It would only be a waste of time for them and an inconvenience for him. They would only pester him with questions about why he was there, how come he never called, where has he been all this time, etc. It was the last thing Vincent wanted to deal with.

The door to his dingy hotel room suddenly opened with a bang, and a tall woman clad in a winter coat and boots walked through. She lowered her hood, revealing long brown hair and a very kind face.

"Merry Christmas, Vincent!" she said cheerfully. Vincent, who had heard her entrance but had not seen her, raised his eyes from his book. Tifa stood before him, smiling brightly and holding a small package wrapped in scarlet and silver.

"Tifa." Vincent acknowledged her presence with her name and a small nod, his tone dull and flat.

"Well, good to see you too," Tifa teased slightly as she set the small box on an end table. She crossed the room, closer to him and stood by the fireplace, warming her cold fingers. Vincent simply let out a sigh at her reply.

"Its so cold out, I can't believe I forgot to wear gloves," Tifa said, attempting to make some small talk. Vincent didn't reply. Tifa turned around, facing him with a small smile. But Vincent could see the slight frustration in her eyes.

"I can't stay long, Cloud is waiting outside." Vincent could hear the rumble of Cloud's motorcycle outside. Against his better judgment, he took the smallest of glances out the window. Sure enough, there sat Cloud clad in winter gear, only recognizable by the tufts of blonde hair sticking from underneath his wool hat.

"His business is doing well," Tifa continued cheerily. Vincent could tell she was desperate to keep the conversation going. "Of course he took some time off for tomorrow, but on his last delivery earlier today he told me he thought he saw you earlier."

Vincent's mind flashed to what happened a few hours ago: he had gone out to buy some food – just a quick trip where he had hoped no one would notice him – when he saw Cloud making a delivery to the very shop he was visiting. The two had locked eyes for a brief second, but by the way Cloud's mako blue eyes widened slightly Vincent knew he had been seen. So he went out of the store as quickly as he could without even buying anything.

"Why didn't you tell any of us you were coming?" Tifa asked, her voice soft but her tone slightly demanding.

"I'm only here until tomorrow, at the latest." Vincent answered. At least he was being honest.

"What on earth for?" Tifa asked. When Vincent made no reply, she continued, getting right to her point. "We've all missed you, Vincent. Cloud has tried calling you so many times, Cid keeps promising he'll kick your butt the next time he sees you and even Reeve calls me every once in a while, asking if we've heard from you." She walked over to where Vincent was sitting on the small bed and sat in a chair adjacent to him, staring.

This was exactly the conversation Vincent had hoped to avoid. He had his reasons for not keeping in touch with AVALANCHE or the Turks, and he wanted to keep them to himself. Vincent noticed that his hands were clutching the book rather tightly, and he put it down on his lap, still not looking at Tifa.

"There's nothing to talk about." he finally answered, when he realized she wasn't going to talk until he was.

"You never want to talk about anything." Tifa pointed out. To this, Vincent had no response but a small, subtle roll of the eyes. She took a deep breath before continuing, her voice a bit gentler now, "Well, nevermind that. Cloud and I are hosting a Christmas dinner tomorrow, and everyone will be there." Tifa paused, as if considering her next words carefully. "We'd…love it if you'd come."

Vincent finally lifted his eyes to her. Tifa was scrutinizing him carefully. He had to hand it to her – she had the unique ability to look kind and caring, yet intimidating all at once. She had the soul of a mother and the heart of a fighter. And she was not down to back away from a fight. Which is why Vincent knew he could be in for one when he simply replied, "No."

"I knew you were going to say that," Tifa replied with a sigh. "Why not, Vincent? We'd love to have you -"

"If you knew I was going to say no," Vincent interrupted, "Why did you bother to invite me?"

"Because that's what friends do," Tifa said emphatically. "they look out for one another."

Friends? Were they even friends? They hadn't spoken in months. Tifa always made an attempt to reach out, but Vincent never took the bait. Cloud had tried to call him a few times, but seemed to have given up after a while. Cid had left him a bunch of voicemails containing particularly foul language, and though he was not one to give up easily on anything even his calls ceased after a while. Barrett, with the possibility of being busy raising his daughter Marlene, had only tried once or twice. Nanaki didn't know how to use a phone.

And then there was Yuffie, who had called, texted, emailed and left voicemails so often it could set a new world record. The messages ranged from a cool new Materia that she found to why hadn't he called her back to endless rambling about meaningless things. There was only one time that Vincent answered, and before Yuffie could even say hello he stonily told her not to call him again. After practically going deaf in his right ear from her screaming what a selfish man he was, Yuffie never called him again. Which was just fine by Vincent.

"Vincent, _please," _Tifa pleaded, "just come eat with us. You don't even have to stay that long. You can just eat and go. But at least say hello."

"No." Vincent said again, more firmly this time.

"Vincent, I know things are hard for you -"

"I'm not going, Tifa."

"-but you have so many who care about you, who want to help you -"

"Tifa, stop-"

"If you would just _let them!" _Tifa's voice had risen to a shout. "You don't have to live the way you do! But instead you push everyone away, even those who love you! We've all tried so damn hard, Vincent! And poor Yuffie came to me crying after the last time you spoke to her! _Why won't you let us help?" _

A motorcycle horn broke through the tension. Tifa glanced out the window, her mouth in a firm line. She let out a breath, her shoulders drooping slightly as she stood up. She pulled her hood back over her head, preparing to face the bitter cold once again. The silence was as thick as the fog falling outside. Tifa walked to the door, her steps slow. She had placed one hand on the doorknob before turning around and looking at Vincent once more. Even in the dimness of the room, Vincent could see that her dark eyes were sad.

"You are still more than welcome to come," Tifa's voice was back to it's normal softness, although there was certainly a hard underlayer to it. "Although I won't be counting on it." She opened the door, and added a quiet, "Merry Christmas." before shutting the door behind her.

Vincent tried to ignore the guilt he felt creeping in his chest. He had seen Tifa yell at others, but it was different when she yelled at him. She looked...hurt, more than anything else. Vincent dismissed this thought with an annoyed puff of breath. All the things she said were merely a daydream of hers: didn't she know that he didn't_ want _any of their help? There was nothing they could do to alleviate how he felt; it's just how he was.

These thoughts, and much more like them, filled Vincent's mind as Tifa's unopened Christmas gift sat on the table, the silver bow glinting in the firelight.


	2. The Warning of Lucrecia Crescent

**Authors Note: Thanks for all who have started following this story! If you enjoyed it, please leave a review! Thanks!**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own Final Fantasy Seven.**

It took a while for Vincent to pull himself together. As much "together" as he could, anyways. Yet as much as he tried to bring his mind back to his novel, Tifa's sad eyes haunted him. A part of him wanted to wonder at what she had said – did Reeve, his old friend, really call her to ask her about him? Did all of the people he knew wonder about him? ….Did Yuffie really cry? Vincent shook his head and scoffed, his dark hair falling into his eyes. Tifa was not one to be overly-dramatic, but Yuffie definitely was. She probably wasn't even sad. And all of the things Tifa mentioned of AVALANCHE, the Turks and Christmas almost seemed more like a bargaining tool than an actual invitation.

It turned out, Tifa wasn't the only one who had invited him to a Christmas party. Reeve, the one person Vincent may have considered a friend, had managed to track him down through Cait Sith only a few days previous. The memory fell over Vincent's mind like a poisonous gas, infecting his logical thought and making emotions rise…

_Vincent's metal boots kicked up small clouds of dirt as he walked the lonely streets. Despite it being December, the small town he was passing through had no snow. But it was still bitterly cold, and he found himself subconsciously tugging his cloak closer to his thin frame. His common sense told him to find the nearest and cheapest Inn and get warm. _

_People stared as he passed by, some with passive indifference and others with what seemed like shock. The women in the street market reached for their children, to protect them from this surely evil man that was in their midst. The men stared him down with eyes of steel. Vincent glared at them right on back. It wasn't his fault that they were scared of him. Even a blind man's dog steered his master away from Vincent's approaching figure. Did Vincent care? No. He was used to it. He even liked it at times. _

_At last he found a cheap Inn, paid for his room to a mortified-looking young woman and made his way upstairs. A blissful fire was already lit, and he let out an unnoticeable sigh of relief. Maybe now he could get some sleep. _

_As he was taking off his cloak, he noticed two bright orbs staring at him from the closet. Vincent didn't flinch; flinching showed that you were scared. He calmly proceeded to take off his cloak, pretending to not notice the amber eyes staring at him. He made his way to the closet to take off his shoes. When he opened the door a bit wider, the thing with the amber eyes darted for him. But Vincent was quick thinking – without making a single sound he swept the little thing up in the cloak. What he had picked up was wriggling, scratching, and...meowing? _

_All at once Vincent knew. He let out a deep sigh, turned over the cloak and let the creature stumble out. The small grey thing gracefully landed on it's feet, __and with a swish of it's small red cape, gave Vincent a playful glare. _

"_Now, Vincent!" Cait Sith said, mockingly waving a finger, "Is that any way to treat an old friend?" _

_Vincent rolled his eyes as he draped his cloak over a nearby chair. "What do you want, Reeve?" _

"_Y__a __know," Cait Sith replied with his typical Irish accent, "I don't think I've ever seen y__a__ without that thing on." He gave Vincent a quizzical look. "How long has it been since you've washed that thing?" _

"_What do you __**want, **__Reeve?" Vincent asked again impatiently. _

"_Yeesh, talk about impatience," the robotic cat said, straightening his little crown. "I was only going to invite y__a__ to our wee little Christmas party." _

_Clearly, Cait Sith was expecting some sort of reaction out of Vincent. But upon seeing Vincent's usual unemotional stare, he hastily continued. "Everyone's gonna be there! Reno, Rude, Elena, Ts__e__ng and even Rufus! It'll be at his lil' private estate, and we're gonna have cake and punch and -" _

"_No." Vincent said flatly. _

"_-Ice cream and I put some mistletoe so maybe Ts__e__ng and Elena can finally confirm all those rumors, and—wait." Cait Sith cocked his head to one side, gloved hands on his hips. "You're not comin'?" _

"_What made you think I would want to?" Vincent said, his annoyance and impatience growing. _

"_Err...because we're your friends?" Cait Sith asked innocently. Upon seeing Vincent give another roll of his eyes while letting out a sigh, the cat hung his head. "Well, I know ya well enough to know that ya won't come no matter what I say." The cat trudged away to the door, his tail dragging on the ground. "I guess I'll just tell everyone that you're not comin'. Although I know they'll be upset..." _

_Vincent saw clear through Cait Sith's subtle manipulative pouting. "Whatever." _

_Cait Sith let out a small growl as he shut the door behind him. Unfortunately, his tail was caught in the door. He let out one little wail before opening the __do__or again, grabbing his tail with his hand. When the door shut once more, Vincent found himself staring after him. _

Vincent shook himself out of his stupor, attempting once again to pick up his novel. He glanced at the cover. There was nothing special about it; just a young woman looking over her shoulder, a terrified look on her face. It should be noted that Vincent had thought of Lucrecia often, and he swore he saw her in a crowd every now and then, but he always knew it was his own selfish thinking that was keeping her alive.

But the longer he looked at the cover, the more he noticed that the woman's hair went from auburn to a light brown, her eyes from blue to a soft burgundy, and her horrified scream into the smallest of smiles. Lucrecia's face. It still had her soft features, but there was something in her eyes that Vincent hadn't seen before: a certain emptiness, yet also an intensity that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

And then he blinked, and the woman on the cover was a young, terrified auburn haired woman again.

Vincent knew that it was just a figment of his imagination, but he was still startled. He had seen her face in his dreams nearly every night. But this was...unearthly. Vincent scoffed as he put the novel, face down, on his end table.

It was very dark outside now, and probably colder than it was just a few moments before when Tifa had arrived. Vincent wasn't too sure of the time – probably around 8 or 9 – but it didn't matter much, anyways. Vincent wasn't one to go to sleep this early, and when he did sleep it was always light, without any sort of dreams. He had trained himself to never fall too deep into it; that's when the nightmares came.

Vincent rubbed the space between his eyebrows with his non-metal hand. Why was he thinking about that, at a time like this? He never gave those nightmares a passing glance and refused to let them nest inside his mind. His mind passed over the events of the evening: arriving in Midgar, seeing Cloud in the store, Tifa's arrival and her abrupt conversation, the memory of Reeve's invitation...it was all giving him a headache.

The lamp on the bedside table, close to where the book rested, suddenly flickered on.

Vincent stared; he had tried turning it on when he first arrived, only to find there was no bulb in it. The lamp quickly turned off, the outline of the light leaving an outline in Vincent's vision. Then, just as quickly, it not only came back on again, but so did every light source in the room. The small, dusty hanging light from the ceiling came to life, as did another lamp placed across the room. All of the lights flickered, strobe-like, keeping rhythm to a song he did not know. The air smelled of ozone and electricity and burning.

A slow but inexplicable dread was rising in Vincent as he cast his gaze around the room. He felt himself reach for Cerberus, still holstered at his waist. There was something inside of him that told him, however, that bullets would not do any good to whatever was coming.

_Click. Click. Click. _

There was a sound that Vincent knew well, steadily growing louder: the click of low heels hitting a floor as a person walked. He raised Cerberus to the door, his trigger finger ready.

The door did not fly open as he had expected – but then again, what _was _he expecting? - but stayed shut as the lights stayed on, but flickered no more. A pale figure walked straight through the door, the sound of her low heels reverberating off of the walls.

_I won't believe it, _Vincent told himself as he kept a steady eye on the ghostly apparition. _I won't. _The mantra repeated in his mind like a stubborn child who wouldn't share his toy with another. And yet, upon the figure coming further into the light, Vincent's breath caught in his throat. He wasn't sure how, but he knew he was going pale. If he were standing, he was sure he would stumble.

Lucrecia. The very same one Vincent knew in life. The same brown hair that was pulled into a high ponytail, the same intelligent eyes. She even dressed the same: spotless white lab coat, blouse tucked neatly into a skirt, low heeled shoes. The only difference that Vincent could immediately see was that her face, normally having a thoughtful expression, was void of any emotion. And yet, as Vincent dared himself to look in her eyes, he saw the same intense yet empty look that made him shiver slightly.

He blinked, hard; she was still there. Although he could see her with physical eyes, and he knew that it was Lucrecia Crescent standing before him, something held him back. Vincent could only look at her in surprise, daring himself to doubt his senses.

"What do you want?" Vincent asked, determined to keep his tone emotionless.

"Hello, Vincent." Lucrecia's voice was still the same. She blinked as she noticed the three barrels of Cerberus staring in her transparent face. Something like a smile passed her face. "You can put that away; I'm not going to hurt you."

"What do you _want_?" Vincent demanded again, raising his voice.

"We have much to discuss, and not enough time to discuss it." Lucrecia answered.

Vincent still didn't lower Cerberus. What on earth was she talking about? There was nothing to discuss between the two of them. Last he had seen Lucrecia was such a long time ago, and although he thought of it daily (not that he would ever admit it to anyone) it was the last thing he wanted to do. It simply brought back too many things he didn't want to remember.

"You don't believe in me, do you?" Lucrecia asked.

"...No." Vincent answered, after a moment.

"Why?"

Because it had been a long day and maybe he was seeing things? Because he was tired? Because he didn't want to believe it was really her? All of them were correct.

"I never could tell what you were thinking," Lucrecia continued as she made her way over to the very chair where Tifa sat. "I often had to guess. And if I had to guess now I'd say it's because you don't want to?" Lucrecia sat herself down on the chair. Despite being a ghost, she was somehow able to sit on solid things.

Vincent simply let out a low hum of an answer, carefully lowering Cerberus but not resting his finger off of the trigger quite yet. To sit here, facing the woman he once – and possibly still – loved, to see her face and hear her voice...it felt like an anchor had been tied to his heart, dragging it deep down into his stomach.

"Why don't you believe in me?" Lucrecia asked once more.

"Because," Vincent said, running a hand through his dark hair in frustration, "I'm not one to believe in ghosts."

Lucrecia almost laughed. Had Vincent ever heard her laugh before, in real life? "After all you've been through, with AVALANCHE and Sephiroth and the Planet, you don't believe in the supernatural?" She paused for a moment before continuing, "Not even after all that you went through with me?"

Vincent's defenses rose like thick branches, intertwining around his whole being and shutting out sound. He could feel his heartbeat getting faster, whether it was nerves of seeing Lucrecia or the fear behind the truth of what she just said, he did not know. He quickly composed himself, trying to maintain his emotionless demeanor.

"The real Lucrecia is in a crystallized form of Mako, in Nibel." Vincent said slowly, as if speaking to a small child, "I was only there a few days ago. There is no way that you can be her. The Lucrecia I know is _dead._" He practically spit out the last word.

Lucrecia rose from her seat. "The Lucrecia you know and the one you see before you are one and the same," she said, every word of her sentence sharp and cutting, "I can't explain how it works, but here I am."

The more Lucrecia spoke, the more her demeanor changed. The kind, gentle face of his former love turned dark and dangerous, her eyes steely. "I have been wanting to talk to you for a long time, Vincent Valentine. I have prayed incessantly to have the chance, and now it seems like that chance has finally come." Her voice rose to a shout. "And damn it, Vincent, I am _not _going to leave until I tell you everything, because I somehow know _this is my last chance!"_

The soft, gentle woman that Vincent knew was gone. She had been replaced by a form of terrible beauty, majesty and power. The hand that had been holding Cerberus was now clutching it tightly, as if it were a lifeline. Lucrecia's eyes were as a flame of fire, and it hurt to look into them.

"….Forgive me," Vincent finally mumbled, tearing his gaze away from hers.

"Do you believe in me or not?" Lucrecia demanded.

"….I do," Vincent said, though he wasn't exactly sure why. "But why are you here?"

Lucrecia's face and voice softened slightly. "I've told you. I don't know why all of the sudden I can see you in person, or talk to you n person. I don't know why or how, but I am taking this chance. I don't have a lot of time. Already my strength is fading." Vincent just now noticed that she appeared dimmer.

"….well, what do you want to tell me?" Vincent asked, secretly hoping to get this over and done with sooner than later. Seeing Lucrecia and hearing her voice was too much.

Lucrecia paused for a moment before continuing. "Vincent, I have so many things I want to tell you. I know how troubled you've been. I can't imagine how hurt you must feel, or the depth of the pain you are in. When I-" she paused again, composing herself. "when I left, there were a lot of things I should have told you, but I didn't. I didn't because I was a coward and I was afraid." A single tear cascaded down her cheek. "I'm...I'm so sorry."

This was more of the Lucrecia Vincent knew, but even the familiarity of it made him uncomfortable. "What are you talking about?" he asked, his irritation rising slightly.

"Just listen to me, please!" Lucrecia begged. Vincent fell silent again. "I don't have time to tell you everything, or even the beginning of everything. But please promise me that you will listen, and you will do whatever I ask of you." When Vincent didn't answer, her tone quieted to nearly a whisper. "Please, Vincent. This means so much more than you could ever know."

Vincent didn't know what to say. Lucrecia, only moments before so powerful and frightening, now looked so...sad. Almost pitifully so. Her dark eyes were filled with unshed tears, her mouth turned into a deep frown. The anchor tied to Vincent's heart kept pulling him down, deep down into emotions he did not want to feel. It ached so much that his chest physically hurt.

"The only reason I can think of as to why I'm here," Lucrecia continued, "is you. It was always you. The things I needed to tell you, the feelings I felt for you, It's been tying me here, to this life, so that I have not fully returned to the Lifestream yet."

Vincent surmised as much; that's basically what a ghost was. He nodded, urging her to continue.

"Vincent," she said, "the most important thing – and perhaps the only thing I can tell you at this rate – is this: do not end up like me."

To say Vincent was surprised was an understatement. End up like her? What was she talking about? Her understood to a point why she was here, but what was going on? Was this what was so important that it tied her to the Planet and prevented her from going to the Lifestream?

"What...what are you talking about?" Vincent finally said, his own voice quiet with shock.

"I mean this," Lucrecia said, her voice firm with conviction as she stared at him. "I mean, don't let your fears hold you back. Don't let your hurt harden your heart. Don't let bitterness forced upon you by others corrode your soul. For that is what I did, in the life I once lived, and my only wish is for you not to do the same."

Vincent wanted to let out a bitter laugh. Fears holding him back? Hardened heart? Corroded soul? He already had all of those things. She didn't need to tell him otherwise. "You don't need to tell me all of this," he said aloud. "I already-"

"Yes, I know," Lucrecia said impatiently, waving a hand in dismissal. "You already have all of those things. But don't you see? That is the very thing that ties me to this earth! That is the very thing that kept me from really living my life! And I do not wish the same for you, which is why I used this one chance to warn you, Vincent! You still have a chance, although it may very well be your last."

The thought that Lucrecia used her last chance to talk to him caused something to soften in Vincent. What it was that caused him to say his next words he did not know. "What do I need to do?"

"Tonight," Lucrecia resumed, "You will be visited by three Spirits from the Lifestream."

Vincent's heart sank. "This is the chance you mentioned?" Lucrecia nodded. "Then I'd rather not."

"Without their visits," Lucrecia said, "you cannot hope to shun the same path I have. There is no other way, Vincent."

Lucrecia's body began to shimmer, and she gave Vincent a sad smile. "Expect the first Spirit at one o'clock. The next upon tomorrow night at the same hour, and the third the third day likewise." Lucrecia's form began to dissipate into small streams of blue and green and silver, and the last thing she said was, "Remember what I've said, Vincent. And...I'm sorry for everything."

And Vincent was left alone once more. Whether it was the fatigue of the day, the depth of the emotion he had felt, or the lateness of the hour, he did not know. And with only the form of his former love penetrating behind his closed eyelids, he fell, fully dessed, onto the bed.


	3. The Ghost of Vincent's Past

**Thanks to all who have reviewed so far! Of course numbers don't matter with stories, but it is a nice confidence booster. There are some slight FFVII: Dirge of Cerberus spoilers, just as a forewarning!**

**Disclaimer: Once again, I don't own FFVII. **

The room was dark and cold when Vincent awoke. He sat up slowly, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he looked around. The fire had been reduced to mere embers, hardly casting any light. He cast a glance outside the window. A lone street lamp had turned on, small snowflakes glinting in the light. Vincent's brow furrowed; if the streetlamp was on and fire was out...how long had he been asleep? He slept for only a few hours at a time, and his sleep was always restless. But upon waking up he realized he still felt drowsy, and his head pounded.

He flipped open his phone to look at the time. It was already past midnight. _What the hell…? _How could he have slept so soundly for so long? His mind flashed to the events previous to his slumber: Tifa's visit, the memory of Cait Sith...and the warning brought by Lucrecia Crescent. The memory of her ghost brought goosebumps to his skin.

The more he thought about it, the more puzzled he became. Was it all a dream? It would explain how he slept for so long and why his head hurt. Tifa's visit wasn't a dream, for he remembered it clearly as he remembered Cait Sith's invitation. But Lucrecia's warning felt somehow fuzzy around the edges, like a memory of a half-remembered dream.

Was it all a dream or not? Vincent laid back down, his mind spinning. No matter how he tried to distract himself, the thought of what happened kept coming back to him. He knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep; he'd gotten enough to last for tonight and tomorrow.

...But he must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew there was a light on in his room. In an instant Vincent was upright, blindingly pointing Cerberus in front of him. The light was so bright he held his free hand up to his face to see better. But it was only a mere outline of a person, he couldn't quite tell who – or _what –_ it was.

The light, once brighter than the sun at noonday, was fading slightly. It took a moment for Vincent's eyes to adjust. When they did, he saw a man standing in the midst of the light, hovering inches above the floor. A man so much like Vincent in appearance, that Vincent thought for the briefest moment that he was seeing double. Same dark hair, same facial structure, same lanky frame...the only difference was in the eyes. They shared the same color, but this man's eyes were gentle and intelligent, while Vincent's were fierce and angry.

It was a face Vincent had not seen in many years, one that he had refused to let himself remember. And yet, the more he stared at the man, the clearer the man became. He had the same soft smile that Vincent remembered as a child. Rather than calming him, however, it shocked Vincent to the core.

"F-Father?!" he exclaimed in disbelief.

Grimoire Valentine's smile widened slightly. "Hello, Vincent."

Vincent could think of nothing else to say except, "Are...are you the spirit that Lucrecia told me would come?"

His father nodded. "I am."

Vincent put down Cerberus, realizing he was now pointing it at his Father. "Lucrecia told me it would be a spirit, but I wasn't expecting...you."

"Who were you expecting?" Grimoire asked curiously. Vincent shrugged, not really trusting himself to speak. It had been so long since he had seen his father. He wasn't quite sure what he was feeling, aside from pure shock.

Grimoire walked closer to him, light trailing behind him. "It's been a long time, son. I am glad that I have this one time to speak with you."

Again, Vincent wasn't sure of what to say. All he had were questions: why was his father here, of all people? If so, what was he here to tell Vincent? It had to be important. But still! Did Lucrecia send him just to torture Vincent?

Didn't she know that seeing his father was just...too painful?

"Why are you here?" Vincent asked, pushing these thoughts away from his mind.

"For you," his father replied simply. "and your welfare."

Despite it being his father, Vincent rolled his eyes. This theme of "this is all for you and for your soul which may possibly be doomed" was getting really old. Grimoire, possibly sensing his distaste, simply smiled as he strode over to the window. With hardly any effort, he opened the window and, turning to Vincent, said, "Come on. Let's go, we don't have much time." The bitter winter chill blew into the room, making Vincent shiver. He looked at his father. It was like looking into a mirror.

Even as a child, Vincent didn't dare to disobey his father. The fact only annoyed him; he was a fully grown man, and his father was a ghost. He shouldn't have to feel like a child anymore. And yet, he did. There was just something about his father that made Vincent want to please him, just like when he was a boy. Was it because his father passed too soon? He didn't know.

"Father, I'm not like you. I'll either fall to my death or freeze out there." Vincent said, his voice coming out softer than he meant it to. His father simply held out a hand. Vincent stared. Was it possible to hold a spirit's hand? Tentatively, he took it in his non-metal one. It was still warm and calloused, just as he remembered.

"You won't fall, just hold on." His father reassured him. "It'll be over in a moment." As he spoke, he led Vincent out the window and into the dark night.

Vincent's feet soon touched solid ground again, and he looked around. They were in a place he knew all too well. Stone walls, with a light coming through a small window on the side. Vincent glanced around to see a young man standing in front of him. The young man had short, dark hair and was dressed nicely in a navy blue suit that fit his lanky frame very well. His posture was somewhat stiff, as if he were nervous.

Vincent stared at the younger version of himself. He couldn't recall how long ago it was – over the years he had purposefully lost track – but he could remember it perfectly. He had been called in for a "special assignment," and as a brand new Turk he was naturally a bit nervous.

"Do you remember this?" His father asked.

"Yes," Vincent replied warily.

"Vincent Valentine reporting for duty, ma'am." his younger self said. "I've been assigned your protection."

The person he was talking to let out a gasp of fright. "No..." she murmured softly to herself.

"Huh?" Young Vincent asked, confused.

"Why...why would they send his…?" Lucrecia didn't even seem to notice that Vincent was there. She looked the way Vincent often remembered her looking: timid and shy, as if something were about to scare her.

"….Excuse me?" Young Vincent asked, still puzzled.

"Oh! Oh, I apologize," Lucrecia said, waving a hand and attempting a smile. "This is the first time I have ever met anyone from the Turks!" She put out a hand. "Lucrecia Crescent. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Valentine."

As young Vincent shook her hand, the present Vincent turned to his father. "Why are you showing me this?" he demanded. He already knew how this story from his past ended, and he did not want to see it.

"Like I said," Grimoire answered simply, "it's for your welfare."

"I don't see how." Vincent answered, if not a bit rudely.

Grimoire gave his son a look. "You will, when all of the visits are complete. Let's move on to another time."

The scene in front of them faded, and another quickly took it's place. There was lush, thick green grass everywhere and the sun was shining brightly. Butterflies and bees drifted lazily by, as if they themselves were drunk on the peace of the moment. Young Vincent was stretched out on the grass, hands clasped behind his head. He was sleeping soundly.

Lucrecia quietly crept up to him before saying softly, "Vincent?" Upon there being no reply she called his name a few more times. Vincent lazily opened his eyes. "Fall asleep here, and you might catch a cold." she said with a smile.

Young Vincent, now seeming to recognize who it was that was speaking, immediately sat up with a gasp. His cheeks flushed slightly.

"Why are you so surprised?" Lucrecia asked. Her smile grew as she asked playfully, "is my face that hideous?"

"N-No," Young Vincent stammered. "I didn't – I'm sorry."

Lucrecia cocked her head to one side. "And how are you supposed to be my bodyguard if you are out here sleeping?" Her tone was still playful and innocent.

"Uh...it was the warm breeze." Young Vincent replied, somewhat bashfully. "I was only meaning to rest my eyes for a moment."

_I was **such** an idiot. _Vincent thought to himself. The thought wasn't entirely unkind; seeing his younger self so flustered gave him some affection. But the thought was a double bladed sword: it was amusing and a bit endearing, but it also brought things back to the surface that he didn't want to remember.

"Well, I have to admit," Lucrecia said, "the breeze is quite comfortable. However," she bent down, looking him more closely in the face, "I think you're in my seat."

Young Vincent looked at her, his bewilderment growing. Lucrecia laughed and held up a picnic basket filled with some food and a bottle of wine. Young Vincent smiled up at her, his eyes shining.

Vincent turned away. "I remember that day," he admitted aloud. "I think that was when I first knew that—that I was – "

"That you were in love with her." his father finished. "And did she reciprocate your feelings?"

Vincent grit his teeth. "….No." He finally answered bitterly.

Saying it aloud was much worse than saying it in his head. All he wanted was for Lucrecia to be happy, to see her smile and laugh. Being assigned her protector did not become something he did out of sheer duty: it became something he enjoyed and looked forward to. The two of them talked often, about anything and everything. She became one of the first real friends he had ever really had.

Vincent shook his head at himself. He sounded like he did back in the day: a love-struck fool, blind to whatever else was coming. The day that she chose another was the day Vincent had shut his heart to anyone else.

Grimoire looked thoughtfully at his son. "I wouldn't say that. True, she never said it in words. But I think her actions proved otherwise."

"Her actions?" Vincent shot back, the pain in his chest spreading like wildfire. "Her actions only proved that she never felt that way at all!"

Grimoire shook his head sadly. "Vincent, you don't know the whole story. That's one of the reasons why I'm here." He waved his hand and the springtime scene in front of them disappeared, leaving them in darkness.

"I know enough." Vincent said bitterly, avoiding his father's gaze.

Grimoire paused for a moment, as if pondering what to say before replying. "It wasn't long after this that you found out about her and I, did you?"

Vincent grit his teeth. Why was his father stating everything in such blunt detail? He already knew the answer, and he could tell by the way his father stated the question that he did as well. So why bother asking at all?

"You need to face this, Vincent." His father said, in a very soft voice. It was the same voice he used when comforting Vincent as a small child. Vincent pondered this; did he really? Was this the whole reason why his father was here – to make him face these memories he would do anything to forget? What good would that do?

A sudden thought crossed his mind: would doing this – talking to these spirits, hearing what they had to say – help him find a way to heal his soul? Vincent nearly recoiled; he never thought like this. Was it his father's presence that was making him think as such? All this time, all of these years, he had convinced himself that he would have to just deal with the pain that would never go away. Not just the pain of what happened with Lucrecia: the agony he still bore over losing his father at such a young age, the fierce anger he felt towards the man responsible for making him the way he was, the frustration at his friends trying to reach out to him...when most of the time, he didn't want them to.

But was it possible to leave all of that behind?

Vincent dismissed these weird thoughts and let out a sigh. "Yes. I found out from a paper on her desk that you and her used to work together. She told me...that she was responsible for your death." He swallowed hard before continuing. "I tried to tell her that it wasn't her fault, that it was just an accident, but she wouldn't believe me."

Grimoire nodded sadly. "What Lucrecia didn't realize was that I knew what would happen. Once the accident occurred, my first thought was protecting her. I knew the consequences of doing so, and I accepted them." Vincent understood the meaning behind his father's words; he would do the same if he were in his father's shoes. "My last words to her were to tell you that I was sorry." his father finished.

"I know." Vincent said quietly. How often had he gone over those words in his head when he first heard them, wishing his father had said more?

There was a pause before his father said, "It wasn't too long after that that she found someone in which she thought she could share comfort in." Grimoire waved his hand, and a different scene came to view: a man with a lab coat and glasses, with a cruel smile and a heartless demeanor. Lucrecia stepped towards him, and the two shared a kiss.

"Hojo." Vincent spat.

"Hojo," Grimoire agreed. "that awful snake of a man."

"Why did she choose him?" Vincent asked, nearly in desperation. "I could have given her comfort if she would only let me!"

Grimoire looked at the image in front of them sadly. "Because you were my son. She was still so torn apart about my death, blaming herself for the whole thing. Lucrecia always cared about you, but her guilt about me consumed her. I think she didn't want the same thing to happen to you."

It made sense. Lucrecia sometimes seemed to speak with a trembling voice, as if she were hiding some dark secret. And the times she would look away from him suddenly, as if she couldn't look at him. She and Vincent were close, but it always seemed as if she were drawing a line, not daring herself to get any deeper than she was.

"Regardless," Vincent said, turning his face from the vision in front of them. "I still can't believe she married him. And then the whole mess with her pregnancy..."

Grimoire nodded as the scene around them changed again: a pregnant Lucrecia, doubled over in pain, clutching her head. Around her flashed scenes of a silver-haired man with a twisted smile, surrounded by flames.

"She knew what was going to happen with her son," Grimoire said. "and yet it was too late. A termination of the baby was out of the question." He turned to Vincent. "Then you found out about her pain."

A new scene appeared: a young Vincent, storming into the lab, his face etched with anger. Hojo looking up, indifferent to Vincent's anger. Vincent yelling, demanding an explanation or a change...and then Hojo raising a gun and shooting Vincent square in the chest.

"I died." Vincent deadpanned, looking at his younger self falling to the floor.

"You did," Grimoire acknowledged. "but that lunatic was not done with you." He nodded at Vincent's metal arm and hand.

There wasn't much Vincent remembered about the experimentation. He kept fading in and out of consciousness, and all of the details were fuzzy. The only thing he could recall was the excruciating pain he felt, and how there was no relief from it. The agony of it often made him unconscious for hours at a time.

"When he was finally done and declared you a failed experiment," Grimoire continued bitterly, "Lucrecia found out. To say she was devastated was a complete understatement. Despite being completely broken by the loss, she used the knowledge she had to save you."

Vincent wanted to ask his father about more details about what exactly Lucrecia did to make him survive, but the words died on his tongue.

"And then...the worst part of all." Grimoire said as a sound filled the air. It rent the air around them like a knife; a newborn baby's cry. And then, a woman's voice –

"NO! DON'T TAKE HIM AWAY FROM ME! I NEVER GOT TO SEE HIM! NO! MY BABY! NOOOO!"

The voice, so full of an indescribable agony, split Vincent's heart down its seam. Lucrecia's hysterical sobs filled the air, her words unintelligible and mangled. Vincent could feel the tears rising, but he forced them down.

"She...never got to see him?" he asked, not daring himself to speak above a whisper.

"No." his father said sadly. "They took her son away before she even had a chance to look at him or hold him. I can't imagine the pain she must have felt. The guilt over my death, thinking you were still dead, being married to a wicked man, and then having her only child taken from her...the poor woman just gave up."

Vincent then saw an image he knew all too well: Lucrecia in the crystal. He bowed his head in reverence, swallowing and blinking hard. He never knew that she never got to see her child. Vincent was not familiar with children, but imagining himself in her shoes made his heart ache. And on top of all of that, being married to Hojo…what a sad life. It almost made his own look like a cakewalk.

"Vincent," his father said as the image of Lucrecia faded, "I show you this not just because you deserve to know what happened, but so that you can understand. I know you have wondered so many times why she just left, what Hojo did to her, what made her give up. I know you've been angry with her for choosing someone so vile, but don't you see? She did it out of protection for you. Granted, that protection may have been misplaced, but her intentions were somewhat pure."

Vincent had never thought of it that way. But seeing all of the evidence presented before him, the ache in his chest that he had been carrying for so long seemed to lessen a little. He could understand Lucrecia's actions a bit better now, even if he still had questions. She did it out of love and protection, and that was satisfactory for him at the moment.

"My time is almost up." Grimoire said. "One last thing before I go." He walked closer to Vincent and put his hands on Vincent's shoulders. It was a kind, familiar gesture. His father did it often when Vincent was a child and had something important or significant to say. Vincent looked his father in the face, listening intently.

"Vincent," his father began softly, "I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry for leaving you so soon. What I did in protecting Lucrecia was right, but my last thoughts and concerns were always about you. You are my _son_. I've often watched you from the Lifestream, although you've never noticed I was there. I saw how much my death rattled you, and how much you internalized that." Grimoire was looking at him with such intensity that Vincent almost wanted to look away. But he forced himself to continue looking at his father.

"You are a good man, Vincent." His father said firmly. "But you've spent so much time in misery and loneliness that that good man, while still there, is hidden beneath all of that. You have people who love and care about you and want to help you, and they genuinely mean that. Its time you start believing them."

His father was slowly turning into small streams of shades of blue. "Don't let this anger, sadness and loneliness turn your heart to stone, Vincent. You are too good of a man to let that happen to you. It'll take time, but you can and _will _heal from all of this."

His father was fading fast. Vincent blurted out in desperation, like a small child to a parent, "How do you know?"

Grimoire gave his son one last smile. "Because you are my son." And with that, he vanished into the night. Vincent felt a single tear burn down his cheek before he succumbed to exhaustion, sleep consuming him once more.

**Author's Note: this chapter took a while to write, for lots of reasons. I had to watch clips from Dirge of Cerberus over and over, look up precise details, and really try to get into Vincent's head (which is always difficult, but for some reason it was especially difficult in this chapter!) Please feel free to leave constuctive criticism and advice, it is much appreciated! Thanks! **


	4. The Ghost of Vincent's Present

**Author's Note: Hi everyone! Hope you all had a good Christmas! I sure did! Right after I had to head out of town for a good friend's wedding, so that's why this is a bit later than usual. I hope you enjoy it! **

**Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own FFVII. **

Vincent woke with a start. He immediately sat up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he reached for his phone to check the time. Almost one in the morning...did he really sleep through a whole day and night? At this rate he'd be getting more sleep that he had asked for. But sleep didn't seem to matter right now. The second spirit Lucrecia mentioned would be here any moment, and the last thing Vincent wanted was to be caught by surprise like last time.

At the memory of his father's visit, Vincent let out a deep sigh. Seeing everything his father had shown him, and fully knowing all of Lucrecia's story had cast a strange feeling upon him. He felt heavy at the additional knowledge of Lucrecia's pain, but weirdly enough he also felt...lighter. Vincent had the stark realization that he did not need to wonder about her anymore; he knew enough now. The thought that he didn't need to wonder about all the things he did regarding her would take a while to get used to.

Seeing his father was a whole different story. The feeling of being a small child again had not gone away. Vincent had never felt so vulnerable before. It was as if his whole soul was being shown to his father, including scenes of his life that he didn't want anyone else to see. If anything, he expected his father to judge him, or even ridicule him. But he didn't. Grimoire simply looked at Vincent the way he always had when he was alive: with love.

Vincent didn't understand it. How could his father look at him as if Vincent didn't have any serious sins? Vincent thought for sure that his father would reprimand him for the things he had done. When Grimoire had gripped his shoulders and apologized, it brought back a feeling that engulfed Vincent before he could realize it. It was something he hadn't felt since his father had died.

For the first time in decades, Vincent felt loved.

"_You are a good man, Vincent. But you've spent so much time in misery and loneliness that that good man, while still there, is hidden beneath all of that." _His father's parting words echoed in Vincent's mind.

_Was _he a good man? Was he capable of such change as his father described? Grimoire made it sound so simple: don't let bitterness get to you and you'll be fine. But how could he do that when the bitterness was already there? Wasn't it too late? Can someone like him really turn his life around? ….was it even possible?

Being so lost in thought, Vincent almost didn't notice the light at first. But when it had finally caught his attention it had already filled the room. It wasn't like the light that his father brought: that light was powerful, bright, and demanded to be seen. This light was soft, gentle, and stirred feelings in Vincent of warm summer days. Where he had been so lost in thought and tense only a moment ago, he felt more at ease now.

A young woman stepped into view. Everything about her radiated gentle elegance and grace, even the shadows she cast on the walls. She could have easily passed for a dancer, with how lightly she stepped and swayed. As gentle as her aura was, she also emanated a confidence that could not be denied. Her eyes were still bright and soul-searching. Her face was as kind as Vincent remembered, with a beautiful smile that she showed to nearly everyone. She even dressed the same: soft pink dress, her long hair tied back into a braid...even the flower basket in the crook of her arm was there.

"Hi, Vincent." Aerith greeted warmly. "It's been a while."

Vincent felt the corners of his mouth twitch. Aerith never had to do much to make him smile. "Hello, Aerith." he replied.

His old friend's smile widened. "It's good to see you." Vincent could tell by her tone of voice that she truly meant it. The strange thing was, he believed her. "As you probably already guessed, I am the second spirit to visit you. So if you're getting tired of this, just think of it this way: just one more after me and you're done."

Vincent let out a breath that could have passed for a small chuckle. She wasn't wrong; he would rather get this over and done with sooner than later. "Take me where you need to." he answered, in all seriousness. What surprised him greater was when he added, "I'll find a way to benefit from it somehow."

Aerith's smile only widened as she held out her flower basket. The familiar smell of yellow lilies – the smell that was uniquely Aerith – filled Vincent's nostrils. He looked at her hopeful face. Vincent had never denied the fact that her early death saddened him; it saddened all of those he was with. He also never dared refute the fact that it was she who saved them from Meteor. Vincent – as well as the members of AVALANCHE – owed everything to Aerith. To have him refuse this gift of spending a few more moments with her was wrong in so many ways.

Vincent took the handle of the flower basket and held it fast.

The room at the Inn vanished, and they stood in another mere seconds later. Once his feet touched solid ground, Vincent let go of the basket and took a look around. The room he was in was as familiar as it was the last time he was there. It had a cozy, homey feel to it, with bright lights hanging from the ceiling and a nice table set up in the center of the room. There were at least ten chairs surrounding it, all varying in size from a large overstuffed armchair to a small child's plastic seat.

Vincent hadn't been to the Seventh Heaven in a while, but it looked just as he remembered: a nice view of the now snow-covered street, scuffed but clean hardwood floors, glasses lined up against the bar counter, and an overall feeling of being welcome. He noticed the sign on the front door was flipped from OPEN to CLOSED. Underneath the sign was a small piece of paper with what looked like a child's handwriting that said: _Merry Christmas! _

Vincent heard humming from behind him and turned to look. Tifa was sprinkling some sort of spice into a steaming pot, stirring it vigorously. She let out a small sigh and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. Vincent could see the sweat gleaming off of it in the bright kitchen light. Aerith was walking over to Tifa and sniffing deeply from the pot, a grin on her face.

"I had almost forgotten how amazing her cooking is!" she chirped happily. She glanced at Vincent. "Remember when she would sometimes make that stew for us when we were all together? That stuff could win an award!"

Vincent nodded, although his mind was elsewhere. He had never tried Tifa's cooking. She had always offered it to him kindly, but he always turned it down. Why did he do that? He couldn't remember, but whatever the reason was seemed stupid now.

Aerith reached into her basket, pulled out a single yellow lily, and dropped it into the pot. The color of the steam changed for a moment as the flower melted in, then went back to its normal white. Vincent was about to ask what she was doing, when a door close to him opened. He turned to see a little girl who couldn't be older than five or so burst in, snowflakes covering her dark hair. Her smile was so wide it was a wonder her face didn't split clean in half.

"Tifa! Tifa! It's snowing again! Come outside and see!" the little girl shouted excitedly.

Tifa turned from the pot and gave the girl a loving smile. "I've still got a lot to do, Marlene," she said, wiping her hands on a nearby hanging towel, "but I promise I'll come out and see when I can, okay?"

Marlene gave a small pout, her big brown eyes shining. "Can Denzel come out and play?"

Vincent didn't know if it was the way Marlene asked the question or just the question itself that made Tifa stiffen slightly. "I don't think so, sweetheart." she said sadly. "He's still not feeling well."

Marlene let out a little indignant huff. "He hasn't been feeling well for for_ever! _Are you sure he's not faking?"

"Pretty sure," Tifa said. She was smiling again, but her voice betrayed her worries. "He's been sick for a while now. But we have a doctor's appointment in a few days, and maybe he'll get some medicine and feel better after that." The little girl let out a cheer before racing back outside, slamming the back door behind her.

Tifa's smile left her face as soon as the door closed. She stood there a moment, as if lost in thought, before crossing to the cupboards and pulling out a few mixing bowls. Vincent wasn't sure what to say, or even where to begin: he knew who Marlene was, but who in the world was Denzel? His sickness sounded more serious than a common cold. Was he okay? ….Was he Cloud and Tifa's child?

"Marlene has grown up so much," Aerith said to the now quiet room. "I forget that she was only four when I met her."

"Who's Denzel?" Vincent asked, his curiosity betraying his calm demeanor.

"I'm sure they would have told you, if you had asked them." Aerith pointed out.

Vincent wasn't sure what to say to that. Neither Tifa nor Cloud had ever mentioned a little boy in their house. He knew Barret was out working in the oil fields, so that explained why Marlene was here. The boy named Denzel must have only come into their life fairly recently. Tifa would have told him about it, surely.

...Right? Or maybe she didn't care so much about what Vincent knew and didn't know about her and Cloud's life. But Aerith did have a point: Vincent never made an attempt to ask Tifa or Cloud about what was going on in their lives. _Why? _He thought to himself as he watched Tifa mix some ingredients together in a bowl. _Why haven't I ever asked them? _

The back door opened with a bang once more, and Marlene ran to Tifa. "Tifa! Tifa! Daddy's here!"

"Already?" Tifa looked at the clock with a smile. "He told me he wouldn't be here until later."

"He said he wanted to surprise me!" Marlene said proudly.

"And I did," a deep voice said. Barret's bulking frame squeezed through the door and he gave Tifa a grin. "Nearly scared the crap out of her, too."

Tifa let out a laugh, walking over to Barret and giving him a hug. Barret could have easily crushed Tifa in his giant, muscular arms, but he only gave her a quick squeeze before holding up something in his hand. "I made it myself."

"Really?" Tifa asked, taking the pie that looked tiny in Barret's massive hands.

"You sound surprised!" Barret teased as he swung up Marlene onto his shoulder. The little girl giggled with glee.

"I just didn't think you the baking type." Tifa chuckled as she put the pie in the fridge. "I thought that was more up Cid's alley."

"Cid? _Baking?_" Barret let out a boom of laughter. "That moron don't know the difference between salt and sugar!"

The two of them laughed. Aerith opened the fridge and put another lily on the top of it. It too, vanished into the pie. Vincent nearly didn't notice; he was looking at Tifa, Barret and Marlene. Where just a moment ago Tifa looked so stressed, it had vanished from her face like melted snow. When was the last time he had heard Barret laugh like that?

It was strange; normally he wouldn't have cared less about things like that. But now Vincent felt a driven curiosity to know everything. He had missed his friends more than he had ever realized.

"Are you okay?" Aerith asked, staring up at him.

"...I'm fine." Vincent said, somewhat gruffly.

Aerith's lips bent into a knowing smile. "They miss you too, you know. Some of them would never admit it, but they do."

Vincent didn't reply. Two more people had walked into the bar, grabbing his attention: Cid, a bomber's jacket covering his usual pilot attire, with his assistant (assistant? Partner? Housekeeper? Vincent wasn't sure which) Shera following close behind, holding a dish filled with what looked like mashed potatoes.

"Uncle Cid!" Marlene shouted in delight, running up to the pilot with her arms outstretched. Cid scooped her up in his arms, his usual crooked smile on his face.

"Hey, squirt. How the heck are ya?" he asked, ruffling her hair.

As Marlene replied happily, Shera walked over to the table and set the dish down before giving Tifa a hug. "Thank you so much for having us," she said in her usual calm, collected voice.

"Thank you so much for coming!" Tifa exclaimed, giving her a squeeze before looking at her friend full-view. "How are you? Have you been feeling alright?"

Shera let out a small sigh. "Oh, I'm alright. Just morning sickness. It'll be worth it, though." She rested a hand on her small but slightly protruding stomach.

Vincent could feel his eyes widen slightly. Shera was pregnant? How far along was she? ….how come no one had told him? Pain seized his heart. Was it because he didn't ask, like Aerith had said? But how could he have known otherwise if someone didn't tell him?

"Vincent," Aerith said softly as she lay another lily on top of the additional food, "they have tried so hard to talk to you, to get you to talk to them, and all you have done is just shut them out. Of course, they still care for you and love you, but they also don't want to force you to do anything."

"...I'm such an idiot." Vincent said aloud, pinching his nose in frustration.

Aerith walked over to him and put a hand on his arm. "Now, I'll have none of that! I came here to help you, not to help you feel sorry for yourself." Her voice was still kind, but firm. "You're not an idiot, Vincent. With the things you've been through, I don't blame you one bit for wanting to shut everyone out. But that's not the right way to handle pain. You sometimes just have to accept the fact that it's there and it exists, but also not let it dictate your life."

Her words washed over Vincent like a wave of understanding. Aerith was always good at validating people's feelings, but she was equally good at helping people keep responsibility for them. But how could he just move past it, to just acknowledge it all and not let it rule him?

Vincent looked up at her. "I don't know how to do that." His voice sounded so small.

Aerith smiled kindly. "That's why I'm here. I'll do some more explaining after we finish watching this, okay?" Vincent nodded and continued to watch the scene in front of them.

There was a sudden puff of smoke in the middle of the room, and the talking ceased. It cleared, and in the midst of it stood Nanaki, looking mysterious and proud as always, with Yuffie standing behind him holding the back of his neck. In her other hand was a Teleportation Materia.

"Hiya, guys!" Yuffie greeted happily. "Merry Christmas!"

Cid, Barret, Marlene, Tifa and Shera immediately surrounded the two of them, petting Nanaki on the head, hugging Yuffie and talking over one another. Tifa guided Yuffie towards the kitchen while the men talked with Nanaki, who was being petted by Marlene.

"Thanks for grabbing him on your way over," Tifa said, nodding towards Nanaki.

"Oh, no problem!" Yuffie answered, waving a hand. "It was easy with this Materia. I just hopped from Wutai to Cosmo Canyon to here." She put the Materia in a small bag hung over her shoulder. She glanced around at the guests. "Where's Cloud?"

"He should be here any minute," Tifa answered as she took the contents of the mixing bowl and putting them in the pot on the stove. "He had a last minute delivery, and it was in town so he shouldn't be much longer."

"Is anyone else coming?" Yuffie asked, attempting to sound casual.

Tifa shook her head. "I'm sorry, Yuffie. I tried."

Yuffie's face fell slightly, but she put on a smile. "I know, Tifa. I would have invited the jerkface myself if I lived closer. Thanks for trying, though."

There was something in Yuffie's face that took Vincent aback slightly. Yuffie was always so chipper, bouncing off the walls and perky. But now that Vincent looked more closely at her, he could see some bags under her eyes. Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes like it normally did. Overall, she looked stressed and worried. Vincent's concern for her rose; did something happen in Wutai? Was her family alright?

"She's worried about you." Aerith said to him, as if she could read his thoughts. "She has been ever since you told her not to call you anymore."

Vincent felt a pang of guilt. He shouldn't have told her that if he knew she was going to worry. But then again, _why _was she worried about him? Vincent wasn't worth worrying over.

Cloud soon entered, his hair and black motorcycle jacket dusted with snow. Greetings and hugs were exchanged, and soon enough Tifa beckoned everyone over to start eating. She poured the contents of the pot into a little gravy boat and carried it to the table.

"Marlene," she called to the little girl. "Would you see if Denzel is feeling up to coming down?" The little girl nodded and dashed up the stairs. A few moments later she returned, a boy who looked a bit older than her following close behind. He had short, curly light brown hair and an excited smile on his face.

"Are we ready to eat?!" He asked enthusiastically.

"Well, look who's up!" Tifa said, giving him a brief hug before crouching down to his level. "How are you feeling today?"

"I'm okay," Denzel replied. "I think I can eat a little."

Cloud came up behind the small boy, putting his hands on his shoulders. "That's good to hear." Denzel looked up at Cloud with a smile. The way he looked at Cloud, his blue eyes full of admiration, tugged at Vincent's heartstrings.

"Go wash up real quick and we'll scoop you up some food." Tifa instructed, brushing his long bangs out of his eyes. As she did so, Vincent noticed a large black-brown stain on his skin. It could have passed for a bad bruise, but Vincent knew that wasn't it. He had never seen anything like it; it looked unnatural, and as Denzel ran off to wash his hands he let out a nasty sounding cough. Both Tifa and Cloud watched in concern for a moment before the coughing stopped.

Soon enough the boy returned and Tifa began to load up everyone's plates with typical Christmas dinner foods: mashed potatoes with gravy, some vegetables and stuffing as Barret sliced a delicious looking turkey. Aerith walked over and placed a flower on it.

"What are the flowers for?" Vincent asked, remembering his question from earlier.

"It just adds a special touch," Aerith replied. "I mainly give them to those who need it most." When Vincent looked at her, puzzled, she continued, "Everyone has a heavy burden they're carrying, and sometimes they need a little extra help. Just because they carry it well doesn't mean it's heavy."

Vincent looked at them all – Tifa, Cloud, Barret, Marlene, Shera, Cid, Nanaki, Yuffie, and Denzel – and wondered what sort of things were on their minds. What types of burdens were they carrying? The only immediate one he noticed was that of the boy, who was digging into his food enthusiastically. He stopped to cough every few moments, and whenever he did so, nearly everyone at the table looked at him in concern.

"Aerith," Vincent found himself asking, with an interest he hadn't felt in a long time, "whatever he has, is it serious?"

Aerith glanced at Denzel, not replying for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was quiet. "What he has is incurable. Tifa and Cloud are taking him to a doctor, but there's not much even they can do." She looked at Vincent seriously. "If things don't change, he will die."

The words hit Vincent like a harsh slap to the face. How could he be a part of this boy's life? How could his actions change an incurable disease to a curable one? How could he change the future in such a way?

Vincent remained lost in thought as his friends ate their food and dessert, laughing and talking about anything and everything. He only snapped out of the trance he was in when he heard his name.

"Where the hell is Vincent?" Cid demanded. "I've been meaning to talk to him for a long time but the moron won't answer my calls."

Tifa sighed. "He was here in town yesterday. He ran into Cloud at the market, and we tracked him down to the Inn nearby. I invited him, but he said no."

"Why the hell not?!" Barret asked angrily.

"I don't know," Tifa replied sadly. "I wish he would talk to us."

"I don't." Yuffie piped up from the other side of the table, her voice hard and bitter. "If he was here, I'd give him a piece of my mind! He can't just ignore us forever! The selfish jerk, always moaning and going on about his sins and whatever!"

"I'm sure there's reasons why he isn't talking," Nanaki said from the floor. "No one just does that for no reason."

"I don't care!" Yuffie answered, her voice rising to a shout. "If he could see past his own freaking problems for a moment he could see that he's just being selfish. You don't shut out the people who care about you! You don't shut out the people who love you!" At the mention of love, Yuffie's cheeks turned a bright red, and she hastily drunk down her glass of cider, avoiding everyone's eyes.

"Well, _damn_!" Cid broke the silence, laughing. "Looks like someone has a little cru-" Shera gave him a look.

"Cid," Tifa cut him off quickly. "now's not the time. Like Nanaki said, I'm sure he has his reasons for doing so."

Cloud spoke up. "I just hope he's alright." Everyone else nodded in agreement, even Cid and Barret.

To say Vincent was stunned at their words was an understatement. Cloud was a man of few words, and he didn't say things like that very often. Nanaki had given him the benefit of the doubt when he and Vincent were never particularly close. Tifa wished that he would talk to them. And then there was Yuffie's abrupt anger, which only stopped after she had let a secret slip out.

Vincent remembered with another pang of guilt how Tifa told him that Yuffie cried when he told her off on the phone. He only realized then that she wasn't trying to be annoying. She was trying to reach out to him, to get him to talk to her out of sincere concern. And he had swatted her away like an annoying fly.

"I want to go," Vincent said suddenly to Aerith, the guilt consuming him more and more. "I've seen enough."

Aerith guided him outside the bar, where it was still bitterly cold. She turned to him, her face full of compassion.

"Don't hate yourself for pushing them away, Vincent." She said softly. "We all do things we regret when we are hurting."

"They just wanted to help...and I refused it." Vincent replied, gritting his teeth in anger. "All they wanted was to help, and I never realized it. Especially Yuffie, who was doing it out—out of-" he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.

"-out of love for you, yes." Aerith nodded. "It's not just her, Vincent. They _all _love you, even Cid and Barret, despite the things you heard moments ago. They all care about you."

"They shouldn't," Vincent shot back. "not after what I've done to them. I don't deserve it. I'd only hurt them again."

Aerith paused for a moment, as if wondering how to reply. When she spoke, her voice was even more gentle than usual. "That's the thing about love, Vincent. Whether we feel we deserve it or not, it is simply always there. Remember, I was there with you when we had our adventure. I know all of them well, and I _know_ they would forgive you if you asked for it." She reached into her basket and handed him her last yellow lily. "And as for fear of hurting them again...you can decide that now. Decide not to hurt them _now. _Of course, we all make mistakes, but that's how you learn. Reach out to them, Vincent. It'll be worth it, I promise."

Aerith was slowly fading, just as his father had. Vincent took the flower from her fingers. She gave him one last smile and added, "You are a good man, Vincent. Not perfect – because no one is – but good. I know you can do it. I'm here with you, even if you can't see it." And with that, Aerith faded into strands of blue and green and white, leaving Vincent standing alone in the snow.

He stared at the flower in his hand, then looked up through the window at his friends. Cid was telling a story, waving his hands in emphasis, and everyone was laughing. Cloud was holding Tifa's hand. Barret had Marlene on his lap. Nanaki was slightly dozing off on the floor. Shera was absentmindedly rubbing her stomach. Denzel was listening to Cid's story with rapt interest. The more Vincent looked at them, the more he realized how much he was missing out on.

_It'll be worth it, _Aerith had said. _I promise. _

There were slow, trepid footsteps behind him. Vincent turned to see a lone, hooded figure, slowly making it's way towards him.

**Again, sorry for the wait! I hope you liked this chapter. I had to rewrite a lot of it in order to be satisfied with it. I wanted to include Denzel and mention the approaching Geostigma, and I thought he would be a good "Tiny Tim" kind of character. As always, constructive criticism and advice is much appreciated! Thank you! **


	5. The Ghost of Vincent's (Potential)Future

**Author's Note: hello everyone! Sorry this one took so long, hope you can forgive me! Prepare for an emotional roller coaster, because I sure as heck had one while writing this!**

**Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own FFVII. **

The hooded figure slowly walked towards him, its steps steady and nearly silent. When it came near Vincent, Vincent nearly stepped back to get away. Everything about this phantom was different from his father and Aerith. Grimoire and Aerith appeared in magnificent light; this spirit did not exude any light at all. If anything, darkness seemed to follow its every movement.

The figure was wearing a heavy cloak that was so dark it was as if a moonless sky was sewn into it. Its face was covered by a hood, and no matter how much Vincent tried to analyze or see it, its face remained in shadow. The figure was shorter than Vincent, and yet Vincent felt as if he were shrinking under its gaze. Vincent was not a man that was scared easily, but everything about it made him feel anxious.

"Are you the last spirit?" Vincent asked, when he finally found his voice.

The Spirit did not speak, but merely raised a hand and pointed a finger in the opposite direction. Vincent looked behind him; there was nothing but the blackness of the unknown. If Grimoire was the Spirit of the Past, and Aerith was the Spirit of the Present…

Vincent looked back at the ghost. "Are you here to show me the future?" Again, the Spirit did not speak, but Vincent swore it gave a very small nod.

By this time Vincent thought he would be used to the company of ghosts and spirits. But this seemed different somehow. His father and Aerith came to give him hope, to comfort and warn. The shadow in front of him, however, only seemed to reflect fear and despair. Although he could not see the Spirit's eyes, Vincent knew that somewhere, hidden in that hood, they were watching his every move.

Facing the past and the present was hard enough, but the thought of seeing the potential future in store made Vincent even more nervous. His father said he was visiting for his welfare. Aerith said she was visiting to help. Why was this Spirit here? Was there anything in Vincent's future that was hopeful? He reflected back on what Aerith told him about Denzel: _"If things do not change, he will die." _

If the two preceding this Spirit's desire was to do good, this Spirit must want to do the same, however scary it seemed. The thought and knowledge that change was possible was still so new, but in a short amount of time it seemed to harden Vincent's resolve to do so. The thought of who he had been for the majority of his life was no longer a matter of indifference to him; thinking of his former self made him feel sick.

_I don't want to be that man anymore. _Vincent thought firmly to himself. He stepped closer to the hooded Spirit before him, his determination strengthening in each step.

"Show me what is to come," he said, his voice steady. "I am ready to see whatever it is." He paused before adding, "And I am willing to make the changes if I don't like what I see."

The Spirit still did not speak, but seemed to glide to the direction it was still pointing. Vincent followed it obediently into darkness. When they emerged, they were in a rather fancy looking office with plush carpet and large windows. Sunlight was streaming through; it must have been early morning. As more details came into focus, Vincent saw a large, beautifully crafted desk and a fancy chair sitting behind it. A mug of steaming coffee sat on the desk, but the man sitting there was not drinking it. He sat in his chair, looking lost in thought as he stroked his chin, frowning. His eyes had a sad look to them.

Vincent had never seen Reeve sad before. It was almost unnerving; usually Reeve was the one who smiled and cracked jokes. The more he stared at Reeve, the more concerned he became: what had happened to make Reeve so sad?

The doors to the office opened, and the Spirit pointed to the two who had entered. Vincent turned to see Reno and Reeve walk up to the desk. Reno, with his long red hair tied back in it's usual ponytail, had a swagger in his step and a grin on his face. Rude, the more stoic of the two, was still wearing his sunglasses inside and held a folder in his hand.

"The President wanted us to give this to you," Rude said, sliding the folder across the desk. Reeve looked up in surprise, as if he just noticed the two of them were there. He took the folder, opened it to briefly look at the contents and shut it again.

"Thank you," Reeve said with a small smile. "Much appreciated."

"No big," Reno said, waving a hand in dismissal. "Just call us your errand boys." He let out a little chuckle at his own joke before asking, a bit more seriously, "You okay, Reeve?"

Reeve let out a sigh before taking a sip of his coffee. "I'm fine. I'll get over it sooner or later."

Both Reno and Rude seemed to know what Reeve was referring to. "It's not your fault, Reeve." Rude answered. "There wasn't much more you could do."

"The dude was a douche," Reno added, without the slightest hint of sympathy. "In all honesty, I'm glad to see that you stopped trying. I mean, what happened sucks and all, but you were wasting your breath."

"Perhaps I was." Reeve said quietly.

Vincent looked at the three men he knew well, his confusion rising. Get over what? What wasn't Reeve's fault? And who was Reno being so unkind about? He had a sneaking suspicion as to who it was, but he pushed it aside for now. He looked at the Spirit, expecting an answer or some sort of explanation. The Phantom merely pointed towards the door once more and glided forward. Vincent took one last look at Reeve's disheartened face before vanishing into blackness.

The two of them emerged into daylight, and Vincent had to shield a hand to his eyes. The snow on the ground was nearly as bright as the sun above. He took a look at his surroundings; they were on a deserted street in the slums of Midgar. The Spirit pointed to a small figure walking towards their direction. The person's steps were slow, as if in no hurry to get to their destination. The person pulled their long cloak closer to their small frame as the wind blew. When the person walked past Vincent, Vincent and the Spirit followed.

The person in the cloak came upon the door to the Seventh Heaven, opening it with trepidation. Tifa, who was standing behind the counter, looked up from drying some dishes. Her face broke into a smile as the person lowered her hood. It was Yuffie.

"About time!" Tifa teased, setting down her drying towel and walking over. "I had almost begun to think you weren't coming."

Yuffie smiled back. It was the same smile Vincent noticed earlier: one that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Sorry, Teef. I got hung up somewhere."

The two of them chatted as Tifa led the way over to the bar. Vincent followed behind, noticing more small but significant details about Yuffie. Her hair had grown a bit longer, but it was tangled and unruly. The cloak she was wearing seemed to hang limply on her shoulders. She answered Tifa's questions, but her voice sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a well. As she sat down, Vincent noticed that her cheekbones seemed a bit more prominent in her face. Overall, Yuffie Kisaragi looked as if she hadn't slept or ate for a while.

Seeing Reeve sad was weird enough, but _Yuffie? _The only time Vincent ever saw her shed a tear was when Aerith died. But soon enough afterwards she was back to her usual, perky self. Granted, she took the mission a bit more seriously, but she was always smiling. But now it looked like a smile hadn't crossed her face in a long time. It was so unnerving that Vincent wanted to reach out and place a hand on her shoulder. However, the moment his hand made contact it fell through her body like the hand of a ghost.

Tifa came over to the bar, holding two drinks. She took the seat next to Yuffie and looked at her in concern. "Yuffie, what's wrong?" she asked softly.

Yuffie looked at Tifa in surprise, as if she just noticed her friend was there. "Oh, it's nothing," she said, attempting to sound cheerful. "I'll get over it sooner or later." She took a sip of her drink, avoiding Tifa's gaze.

"You haven't been keeping in touch." Tifa prodded gently. "That's not like you at all. I've been calling you to check up on you, especially after what happened." she paused before continuing. "I'm worried about you."

Vincent looked at the ghost in confusion. What had happened? Was it the same thing that Reeve seemed upset about? He glanced back at Yuffie, hoping that at least she would shed some light on what was going on. But Yuffie was simply staring at her glass, her dark eyes shining and saying nothing.

Tifa reached over and rested her hand on top of Yuffie's other hand, which was laying on the counter top. "Please, Yuffie. Talk to me. I promise I won't judge you for what you say."

Yuffie opened her mouth, but no words came out. Tifa waited patiently, holding her friend's hand. After a minute or so of silence, Yuffie found her voice.

"I just keep thinking this is all some sort of nightmare," she began. Her voice was the quietest and saddest Vincent had ever heard it. "And that I'll wake up and find that it never happened. But every morning when I wake up it's like its hit me all over again." Yuffie looked up at Tifa, the tears spilling down her cheeks, her voice cracking. "I don't know what to do, Tifa. I feel like if I had just known anything, I could have helped."

Tifa squeezed Yuffie's hand. "We all tried, Yuffie," she said softly. "But he kept pushing us away, and there's not much you can do when someone doesn't want your help."

Yuffie squeezed her eyes shut, the tears spilling faster. "I would make him accept my help, if I could."

"We all would," Tifa agreed. "But you know how he is. Once his mind is set there's no turning back." She reached across the counter and grabbed a few tissues, handing them to Yuffie. Yuffie took them gratefully, dabbing at her eyes.

"I never got to tell him," she said, her voice hoarse from tears. "And that's what hurts most of all. Like...maybe if I did, it would have made a difference, you know?" She looked at Tifa pleadingly. "Maybe if I did, he would have stayed."

There was a different sort of ache in Vincent's chest than before. Whereas before it came with a sense of hope and change, now it was nothing but sadness. Sadness for the two women in front of him, sadness for how much Yuffie had changed because of him, sadness for the grief that was so prevalent on both of their faces. Of course Vincent knew they were talking about him. But what was unexpected was the phrase, "he would have stayed." Vincent felt the guilt piling on his shoulders like heavy bricks.

As much as Vincent was ashamed to admit it now, he had thought about cutting all contact with them before. Just before all of these visits happened he was still slightly considering it. It was the easy way out: cut off all contact and just disappear. They wouldn't wonder where he was. They wouldn't care. Sure, they may be sad for a while, but they'd get over it.

Looking at Yuffie's tear-stained face and Tifa's sorrowful one, Vincent knew then and there that no one would "get over it" if he left. The thought only made his heart ache more.

"Oh, Yuffie," Tifa said consolingly, pulling her into a hug. Yuffie laid her head on Tifa's shoulder, her body shaking with sobs. "It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault."

"I just miss him," Yuffie cried. "And I wish the stupid jerk never left."

"I know," Tifa said quietly, blinking tears out of her own eyes. "I miss him, too."

Vincent felt tears prick his own eyes, but he hastily forced them down. Yuffie always acted so tough, like the fierce ninja-princess she was supposed to be. His leaving cut her deeper than he ever thought it would. A part of him always suspected that Yuffie had feelings for him, but he dismissed them as ridiculous daydreams of a child. Deep down he considered her a friend as much as the others, but Vincent never let that show. The reason seemed logical at the time, but so stupid now: he didn't want to hurt her, or any of them.

After the mess with Lucrecia, Vincent had shut his heart. It was because of him that she had led a miserable life, and he did not want to cause others the same fate.

But looking at that now, with the additional knowledge he had, was that even true? Was it his fault that Lucrecia led such a sad life? For the first time Vincent thought, _No. _His father had said that Lucrecia had just given up because of the guilt, sadness and frustration that consumed her. And as sad as that was, Vincent fully realized that he could not control that.

_Don't let fear hold you back, Vincent, _the Spirits had told him. Had he really been letting the fear of what happened with Lucrecia deprive him of his relationships with his friends? Vincent let out a long sigh as the darkness consumed him and the Spirit once more. The last thing he saw was Yuffie's tear-stained face.

_Am I really that important to them? _He thought to himself.

The scene in front of them shifted, and Vincent found himself outside once more. There was a house with a back porch to his left and a giant rocket to his right. He turned around at the sound of voices: Cid, Barret, Nanaki and Cloud were talking quietly. He stepped closer to listen to their conversation.

"….I considered him a friend, but he sure as hell didn't feel the same." Cid was saying, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag.

Barret shook his head in anger. "Who does he think he is, leaving us high and dry like that?! I'm gonna find him and kick his-"

"I don't think he _wants_ to be found." Nanaki interrupted. "That seems obvious to me, anyways."

Cid held his cigarette between his fingers. "Maybe not, but I betcha Barret and I can talk some sense into that #$%&-er. Well, I'll yell at him and Barret can kick his butt."

"That would only push him away more," Cloud said, finally joining the conversation. "I think the best we can do is wait."

"_Wait?!" _Cid and Barret yelled simultaneously.

"Wait for what, him to come crawling back to us? Cause that's not gonna happen." Cid said, stubbing out his cigarette in anger.

Barret shook his head. "Nah, there ain't no way he will. Stubborn as a freaking mule, he is."

There was a slight pause before Nanki answered, "Well, weirder things have happened." He looked up at Cloud. "Do you really think he'll ever come back?"

Cloud was silent for a moment before answering. "I hope so."

Cid shook his head incredulously. Barret let out a snort of disbelief. Nanaki simply rested his head between his paws. And yet, Vincent could see the small glimmer of hope in each of their eyes. The burden of guilt on his shoulders and the pain in his heart only grew. Aerith was right: they all cared about him, even if it looked otherwise.

But _how? _How could they still care about him in this potential future, when all Vincent had done was treat them like trash? How could they hope for his return when he had pushed them away? It didn't make any sense. Aerith's words came back to him: "_That's the thing about love, Vincent. It's always there, whether we feel we deserve it or not." _Vincent knew that he was the least deserving of such genuine care...and yet, they cared anyways.

His mind flashed back to what they all had been through with Sephiroth, Meteor, and the Planet. They all had grown close together during that time. Vincent knew that you did not face certain death without bonding. During that time he had felt the connection between all of them, and how much he wanted their friendship. Instead of acting on it, however, he held back.

_Why did I do that? _He asked himself. _If I didn't none of this would be happening._

The scene in front of them faded, and Vincent found himself staring upwards at a large, grand building. It easily could have passed for a vacation home, with windows every few feet apart and fancy oak doors. Vincent knew the building well. Too well. He had, after all, spent quite a lot of time in it's lower chambers.

He glanced at the Spirit, who merely pointed towards the front door.

"No," Vincent said immediately. "I'm not going back in there. Never again."

Even after all this time, the Shinra Mansion was still a stark reminder of his past and pain. True, he had slept in its basement for a long time, but he was too numb to want to remember the horrific events that occurred to him there. Vincent knew the minute he stepped inside there would be memories lurking behind every corner; memories he did not want to remember. Choosing not to go in there was the most comfortable option.

"I am _not _going in there." Vincent said again, much more firmly.

The Spirit lifted it's other hand and pointed to something not too far off. Vincent looked to see a small, well kept hill with flower bushes and small trees. That hadn't been there the last time Vincent was here. Obeying the Spirit, Vincent walked towards the hillside, his boots making tracks in the snow. The Spirit glided silently alongside him.

The closer Vincent got to the place, the more the air seemed to turn dense. It became harder to breathe. Vincent tugged at his collar as he walked up the hill, making the conscious effort to take deep breaths. Something about this place just seemed to whisper of sadness and despair. As Vincent looked around to find a possible source as to why, he froze mid-step. Along the ground were all sizes of tombstones. Some sat upright, others laid on the ground. All had names and dates etched on to them, with some including a small poem or two.

Why would the Spirit want to bring Vincent to a cemetery?

Vincent looked up from the ground to ask the Spirit why, only to find the Spirit pointing to a small stone only a few feet away. Vincent approached it cautiously, fear creeping into his heart. He slowly bent down and wiped the snow off of the engraving.

The grave belonged to the small boy, Denzel.

Vincent heard himself gasp. He was almost expecting to see his own grave. Seeing Denzel's name, however, felt like all the blood in his body was replaced with ice. The boy did not deserve death! He was too pure, too good. Vincent looked up at the hooded figure. "Why are you showing me this?" he demanded. The Spirit said nothing.

"_If things don't change, he will die." _Aerith had told him. But what could Vincent possibly do to prevent this? No one could escape death, not even himself. "Is there any way to change this?" he asked the Spirit, nearly in desperation. The Spirit once again pointed to the Shinra Mansion. Vincent looked at it. Even from this distance it sent chills down his spine. How could going in there save Denzel?

"_You need to face this, Vincent." _His father's words resurfaced in his mind. Would somehow going inside the mansion change fate? Or would it only cause more misery for Vincent? Vincent had faced a lot of his past already with Lucrecia. He thought that would be the end of it all. But the Spirit still pointed towards the mansion, and Vincent swore he could see its eyes boring into him. Vincent felt like a little child again, struck with sheer terror of going into his own haunted house.

But he had come this far. He had survived facing his previous memories. Of course they caused him pain, but he didn't die. With that sheer thought alone, Vincent slowly stood back up and walked back towards the manor.

The Spirit glided alongside him, as silent as ever. Vincent put a hand on the intricate doorknob and pushed the door open. The smell of dust and mothballs hit his nose, and he resisted the urge to sneeze. He cautiously walked inside, shutting the door behind him. Everything was as Vincent remembered: the furniture was all in place, the floorboards still broken, the thick cobwebs that coated the windows.

The Spirit did not need to point to where Vincent needed to go. Vincent walked across the foyer, up the stairs, and turned to his right. He slowly walked into the bedroom and pressed the stone in the far wall. The secret passageway opened, and Vincent looked down into the chasm below. The fear in his heart was growing ever more present; Vincent could feel it in the way his hands shook slightly as he made his way down the stairs.

At the bottom of the staircase, Vincent looked around. The room with the coffins was to his left. Vincent looked at it for a fleeting moment before turning to the room to his right. Even after all this time, the lab still had the eerie glow of Mako-blue to it. What was strange was that, while Vincent was still terrified of what lay beyond, he also felt completely calm and coherent. The Spirit pointed towards the laboratory, and Vincent walked inside.

It looked just the same as it did all those years ago, and still held the same air of pain and torture. The more Vincent looked around, the more he wanted to bolt out. Along with the dust and cobwebs that were prevalent in smell, there was an under-layer of metal, rubbing alcohol, and blood. Vincent had to close his eyes for a minute and focus on not throwing up. Even the smell brought back the memory of sharp objects and broken bones. When he was sure he wasn't going to lose himself, he opened his eyes. The Spirit still stood there, not pointing at anything. It was just standing there like a shadow.

Something caught Vincent's eye. The smallest ray of light had crept through one of the windows and glinted off of the surface of something shiny. On one of the small tables lay a round sphere of Materia. It was a deep, rich purple in color, one that Vincent had never seen before. There was a label in front of it, covered in dust. Vincent wiped it off to reveal the type: DELAY-ESUNA. Remembering Denzel's sickness, he put the Materia in his cloak pocket, making a mental note to himself. He turned to face the room once more.

"_You need to face this, Vincent." _the voice of his father echoed in his head. Vincent closed his eyes, and let himself remember.

There wasn't much he remembered from the experimentation with perfect clarity. There was a constant ebb and flow of excruciating pain. He occasionally heard the clink of metal instruments being used on him. There were reoccurring thoughts of how much he wished he could die, just to be free of the pain. And in the background, there was a frequent, high pitched laugh. One that brought a vision of insanity to all who heard it. An _evil _laugh.

Hojo's laugh.

At the resurface of the memory, Vincent opened his eyes. Immediately he rounded on the Spirit, his voice rising. "How can I move on from what he did to me?! He made me into what I am, into this—thing!" he held up his metal arm and hand. "He was a vile, twisted, evil man! I will never forgive him for what he did to me, or for what he did to Lucrecia!"

The Spirit cocked its head, almost in an interest. Vincent froze. For one short moment, he could see the Phantom's face clearly: a hooked nose, a lined face...and the glint of light reflecting off of round glasses. Just as quickly, the Spirit's face was unseeable once more.

Vincent found himself breathing fast. Why did he just see Hojo's face under the hood? And why did it disappear? Was it really Hojo underneath, or was it just his imagination?

"Show yourself!" he demanded. The Spirit did not answer nor lower its hood. It simply pointed to something adjacent on the wall. Vincent turned to see a large mirror. Before he could ask why or what was happening, the Spirit was next to him. Vincent watched in the mirror as the Phantom lifted two pale hands to its hood, lowering it slightly.

Hojo's twisted smile peered back at him. But before Vincent could say anything or even react, his own face merged with Hojo's in the mirror. Seeing Hojo's crazed smile on Vincent's own face took Vincent's breath away. As much as he tried to rip his eyes away from the mirror, he found himself unable to.

"No..." Vincent whispered in horror. "I'm not like you...I'm not like you!"

"Oh, but yes, you are." Hojo's grating voice answered. "We are the same, you and I."

"No!" Vincent shouted, shaking his head rapidly. "You are insane, and I am not!"

"Oh, but Vincent-" Hojo let out a sickening chuckle. "Don't you know? All of us are just...puppets. Puppets to whatever we are given!" He let out another roar of laughter. "The only thing you have to decide is who is predator and who is prey!"

Vincent's mind was reeling. What in the world was he talking about? Hojo was the human definition of insanity; Vincent's mind was whole. Vincent would never do the unspeakable, horrible things that Hojo had done to so many people.

…_.Would I? _

The thought made Vincent recoil. How could he think something like that? Anger rose in Vincent like a snake ready to strike. This twisted man, who laughed at his pain and took pleasure in hurting others, had the audacity to say that they were one and the same?! Hojo was the living embodiment of heartless evil, and Vincent was just...was just…

...a puppet of Hojo's own experiments.

Fear welled up in Vincent like a tide. It called him, with the voice of all the pains he had ever felt on that lab table. The pain of so many screams screamed back at him, the screams of being at the mercy of Hojo for so many years. The fear of every day wondering...what would Hojo do next to mutilate his body?

He suddenly recalled what happened to make him the helpless guinea pig on that operating table, no more than a lab rat for a man who prized that twisted 'science' over the lives of others. It was all because of Lucrecia: she saved him, but for what? The anger washed over him, filling his heart with the greatest malice. After all Grimoire, he, and Lucrecia had been through, she could have stopped Hojo. She didn't. When that happened, all that was left was to beg Hojo, that vile demon, for mercy, mercy Hojo did not give, would never give.

Hatred, pure hatred seized Vincent's heart. Hatred for Lucrecia for letting all this happen. Hatred for Grimoire for leaving him. Hatred for everything in the world for allowing this to happen. The malicce flowed out from his heart and through every vein in his body like the Lifestream flowing through the planet. He wasn't just possessed by hatred, he _was _hatred, everything else was just an illusion, a terrible, pathetic illusion that needed to be destroyed.

He had seen this hatred, this _rage, _once before, in Sephiroth, but never thought that he would have to see it in himself.

Vincent pulled out Cerberus. He knew he wanted to destroy it all, to utterly obliterate everything and everyone that had ever done him harm. He pulled back Cerberus' hammers and aimed the gun at the mirror. He stared at the ugly visage before him, that despicable man; Hojo or Vincent, the distinction didn't matter much anymore: Rage pulsed in him, he could feel his heart beating no longer with blood but with that rage, and for the briefest moment the thought struck him: _maybe I could do it – maybe I could in fact let this hatred take over me, and then everything will be made right._

A clear voice whispered through the noise in Vincent's mind: _Vincent...Vincent, you're better than this. _

Something clicked inside of Vincent's mind. The things his father, Aerith, and even Lucrecia were trying to tell him all had a similar theme: don't let anger, bitterness and hate turn you into someone else. Vincent stared in the mirror at his and Hojo's merged face. And suddenly, the message rang true:

If Vincent continued down the path he was currently on – of pushing others away, of harboring hate and anger and bitterness, of not doing anything to change – he would end up just like the person next to him. The last person he ever wanted to be. While it's true he wouldn't be completely insane like Hojo, he would still be cold, calloused, mean, and spiteful. And he would have no one left.

Vincent's whole body was shaking with rage and fear. After all he had seen and learned, this was not the way he wanted it to end.

"_You are a good man, Vincent." _His father had said.

Vincent felt himself raise his hand.

"_You have people who genuinely love and care about you." _Aerith told him.

He raised his clenched fist high, ready to strike.

"_Don't let your fears hold you back. Don't let your hurt harden your heart. Don't let bitterness forced upon you by others corrode your soul." _Lucrecia's words repeated in his mind.

_I won't. _Vincent thought to himself. _I have hated long enough._

He brought down his fist upon the mirror, the impact of Cerberus' grip instantly shattering it. Hojo's laughter was cut short, still echoing in the empty room. The fragments fell to the floor with a clang, and Vincent was left alone again. Vincent let out a long sigh. His eyelids begged to close, to sleep, to fall into the land of dreams. But he made himself keep his eyes open. Vincent picked up a shard of mirror carefully and looked into it. His eyes were their normal crimson, his face his own. Vincent Valentine had never been more relieved to see his own reflection. With a fierce conviction, he let out a vow that he knew he would follow for the rest of his life.

"I will _never _be like you."

The mirror fragment in his hand seemed to fade away as he fell forward in exhaustion. He was expecting to hit a hard stone floor...but it turned into a soft, warm bed as soon as his face hit it. He remembered Hojo's face for just a moment, and breathed a sigh of relief: maybe it was just his own memories messing with him.

**Author's Note: good freaking GRIEF, this chapter took FOREVER to write! I rewrote the whole thing maybe about three times before feeling satisfied with this version. I knew when I first started this story I wanted to include Hojo, but I wasn't sure how to. I thought him going into the Shinra Mansion was a good way to personally face all of the trauma that Hojo caused him. Thanks for reading this penultimate chapter! The final chapter will be coming soon. Feel free to leave constructive criticism and advice! **


	6. Changed for the Better

**Author's Note: Thanks to all who have stuck with this story from the beginning, and to all who have read and left reviews! This story has been both a challenge and an exciting project for me, and I am pleased with how it turned out. You guys are the best!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own FFVII. **

Sunlight was streaming through the window, announcing the start of a new day. The sky was clear, and a blanket of fresh snow covered the ground. All over town families were awake, opening presents and preparing the food for the Christmas feast. Vincent felt the warmth of the sun hit his face, and he blearily opened his eyes. He slowly realized that he wasn't in the mansion anymore, but in his bed at the Inn. He didn't remember it feeling this comfortable and warm. As he sat up and stretched slowly, he heard birds singing outside and the voices of people on the street. What time was it? Vincent reached for his phone, opened it and looked. It was only 9AM, December 25th.

_Wait. December 25th? _Vincent thought to himself, his brow furrowed. _That can't be right. _Each of the Spirits came at one o'clock for the past few days. It should be December 28th. Vincent turned around on the bed, opened the window beside it, and listened to the voices calling to one another outside:

"Merry Christmas!"

"Happy Holidays!"

"Have a great Christmas!"

The air outside was crisp and fresh with the feelings of festivity and cheer that only Christmas Day can bring. Men and women were smiling at one another, children were laughing, and Vincent swore he heard singing in the distance. He pulled his head back inside the room, thinking. How could Lucrecia and the Spirits do it all in one night? _Well, they are Spirits, _Vincent told himself with a small smile. _Whatever; I guess that's how it works. _

He felt...lighter. Calmer. More at peace with himself than he had been in decades. It took him aback at first, but he soon embraced the feeling. It was as if the voices in his head that had been screaming were silenced, the anchor that dragged his heart down lifted. The intense hatred and fear that he had so felt with the last Spirit had vanished, replaced by a warmth that burned in his heart. Vincent simply sat on the bed for a while, pondering what it all meant.

He recalled with perfect clarity how he didn't believe Lucrecia, how he had asked if there was any other way. Looking at it now with clearer eyes, Vincent shook his head at himself. What a fool he was! If he knew then that he would feel like he was now after it was all over, he would have taken the offer immediately!

"I'm sorry I didn't believe you." Vincent found himself saying aloud to the empty room. There was no answer, but Vincent hoped Lucrecia heard him anyways.

Memories of the Spirits passed in his mind like photographs. His father's hands on his shoulders, love in his eyes. Aerith's gentle smile and her basket of yellow lilies. Hojo's hooded face and maniacal laugh. Seeing AVALANCHE have Christmas dinner together, laughing and talking. Lucrecia's anguish over not seeing her newborn son. Visiting the Shinra mansion, forcing himself to relive what had happened to him there. Seeing what he would become if he did not change.

Vincent shuddered at the memory of his and Hojo's faces merging together in the mirror. Instead of dwelling on it, however, it filled him with determination. He was not going to be like Hojo. He would _die _before he found himself in that position. He would not lock people out. He would not hurt them, at least not intentionally. He would accept their help and allow them into his life.

It was almost strange, thinking so positively. But it felt strange in a good, new way.

Vincent stood up, feeling the DELAY-ESUNA Materia shift in his pocket. He pulled it out, staring at his reflection in the orb. This would surely delay Denzel's sickness. It may not stop it completely, but it would buy him some time. Hopefully by then, a cure would be available. He wasn't sure how he would explain the knowledge of Denzel's sickness to Tifa though...maybe he would just drop it off to them anonymously.

Vincent looked over at the table. Tifa's gift was still sitting there in its scarlet paper and silver bow. He picked it up, opening it as he sat down on a chair. There was a small, handwritten note lying on top of the gift inside:

_Dear Vincent,_

_Merry Christmas! I hope you enjoy this gift. I know you're not one for presents, but I wanted to get you something anyway. Well, actually, it's from both me and Cloud. We thought you would like it. _

_Love, Tifa_

_P.S. We are here for you._

Vincent's heart, already softened by the visit of the Spirits, swelled at Tifa's note. He looked in the box to find a small, portable gun cleaning kit. He picked it up gingerly and set it on the nightstand next to the bed. Cerberus hadn't been cleaned for a while, so he would definitely put it to good use. The thought of seeing his friends this afternoon made him smile, whereas before it made him grimace. And there was also Reeve's party that he was invited to.

He checked the time again. Vincent still had time to do a few errands before making things right.

_A few hours later…_

Vincent wasn't used to having his hair pulled back and out of his face, but today was a good reason to do so. He also wasn't used to wearing some better looking clothes than what he usually wore, but he did it anyways. Of course, he still donned his usual cloak, but it felt weird looking in a mirror and almost not recognizing himself. He figured he needed to at least attempt to look nice for the dinner and Reeve's party later on. Normally he wouldn't have cared, but things had changed. _He _had changed. And perhaps, for the better.

The bag that Vincent had over his shoulder seemed heavier than it should have been. They were all small gifts – nothing too fancy since he was short on money – but he hoped that they meant something to his friends regardless. He wasn't one for buying gifts either, so he mainly just guessed on a lot of what he thought his friends would like. Except Yuffie, of course. He knew what she would like, and her gift was extra meaningful.

People still stared at him as he walked by, but rather than glaring back, he gave a small nod in greeting. Some of them looked rather shocked at his acknowledgment of them. Others nodded back. A few even smiled. It wasn't much, but it was a start. Maybe it would grow to something more.

Vincent stopped in front of the Seventh Heaven. It looked just as it had when Aerith took him there: the sign switched from OPEN to CLOSED, the child's note beneath it, the smell of delicious food wafting outside. Vincent glanced inside: everyone was there already, but the food hadn't been served yet. Barret had Marlene on his shoulder, Cid had an arm around Shera, Cloud was helping out Tifa in the kitchen, Yuffie was talking to Nanaki, and Denzel was sitting at the table, smiling at the company around him.

Looking at them all, Vincent suddenly felt nervous. What if they wouldn't welcome him back? What if they turned him away, just as he had to them? It would make sense. Maybe it would be better to just go back to the Inn…

But before Vincent could decide what to do, he heard Marlene's voice: "Tifa! There's a scary man looking through the window outside!"

Vincent saw Tifa glance up from her work in the kitchen and look right at Vincent. Her jaw dropped, but her shock was soon replaced by a wide smile. She quickly wiped her hands on a towel before rushing over to the front door, unlocking it and opening it wide.

"Vincent?!" she exclaimed in excitement.

"….Hi," Vincent said after a moment. He paused again before asking, in a rather quiet voice, "I changed my mind about dinner. Would you still have me?" He braced himself in case she said no.

Tifa let out a cross between a laugh and a squeak. "_Have _you?!" She stepped aside, allowing space for him to enter. "Of _course _we will have you! Come in!"

Vincent let out a small breath of relief as he stepped inside. All the other members of AVALANCHE were still talking, but they began to notice him one by one. Cid had glanced up to look at who came in, and whatever he was saying had tapered off. He walked over to Vincent with an unreadable expression on his face. Cid stood a few feet in front of him, scrutinizing Vincent carefully.

"About damn time," he finally said, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Barret and I were about to hunt you down and kick your -"

"Well, look who it is!" Barret's deep voice boomed across the room, and everyone went quiet. Barret gently set Marlene down on the floor before practically marching over to Vincent. He gave him a glare as he continued, "Do you have any idea how much we've tried to call you, and _now _you show up?! You're such a -"

"-A selfish, stupid, ignorant man who pushed his friends away?" Vincent finished for him, his voice sincere and, for once, not sarcastic. "Yes, I know." He paused briefly before continuing. "And...I'm sorry."

There was nothing but silence. Vincent looked at each of his friends. Cid and Barret both looked like they were struck by lightning. He could hear Tifa let out a small sigh behind him. Cloud was looking at Vincent with the smallest of possible smiles. Nanaki had trotted over during the conversation and rubbed his head against Vincent's leg. But most importantly, Vincent looked at Yuffie. Her face was red – whether with anger or embarrassment Vincent didn't know – and there was a fierceness in her eyes that he had only seen in battle.

Vincent looked at his friends, silently pleading with them to say something. He wanted to explain it all, to say how he had changed, to tell them about the visits from the Spirits. But he figured he would have sounded crazy, so he simply waited for the silence to be broken. They were all just looking at him with wide eyes. Vincent couldn't blame them – he rarely apologized for anything. He hoped with all of his heart that they could sense his sincerity.

"...Well I'll be damned," Barret finally said, letting out a chuckle. "you can't get much better than that." Everyone laughed, except Yuffie, who had abruptly stood up and walked outside.

Tifa gave him a quick hug before rushing back to the food in the kitchen. Cid and Barret both gave him a clap on the back, their previous frustrations and anger seemingly forgotten. Cloud emerged from the kitchen and shook his hand. Vincent patted Nanaki on the head and said hello.

"Vincent?" Tifa said quietly as he walked into the kitchen. "I really think you should go talk to Yuffie. She's..." Tifa paused, trying to find the right thing to say. "She's been worried about you." Vincent nodded before making his way outside.

Yuffie had traded her usual shorts and tank top for pants and a regular t-shirt, but she still looked freezing. She was staring at the snow falling from the sky, her dark hair speckled with snowflakes. A scowl formed on her lips, and she shook her head as if having a silent argument with herself. Despite looking furious, until now Vincent had never seemed to notice just how pretty she was, with her high cheekbones and sharp Wutai features.

Yuffie was the one that Vincent wanted to apologize to the most. Not just because of her feelings for him, but because she deserved it most. She, after all, was the one that called Vincent the most and wanted to be the one to make sure he was okay. Vincent still felt guilt about what he told her on the phone, but perhaps he could make things right if she would let him.

Yuffie looked over at him at the sound of his footsteps. "What do _you _want?" She asked harshly.

"Yuffie-" Vincent began, but she cut him off immediately.

"You think it's okay to just come over here and act like everything is fine?!" She shouted, her hands on her hips. "After what you said to me, you think you can just waltz your emotionally constipated butt over here and try to talk to me?!"

At the words, "emotionally constipated," Vincent felt the corners of his mouth twitch in amusement. Yuffie, noticing his expression, turned only more red in the face.

"Do you think this is some kind of _joke?!" _She yelled. "It's _not_ funny, Vincent! Not funny at all! After literal _weeks _of doing what you asked me to do and not call you, the first thing you do is _laugh_! Don't you know how rude that is?! Oh, wait," she said in a mocking tone as she placed a finger on her chin and looked at him in fake contemplation, "I forgot. You don't even _have _feelings!" She gave him a glare as she dropped her hand back to her side. "So if you're here to make fun of me, just go away and leave me alone!"

As she was talking, Vincent made his way closer to her. When he thought she was done talking, Vincent spoke, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Yuffie, please, just -"

Yuffie's left hand rose so fast Vincent didn't have time to notice. There was a loud _crack _in the air as her open palm collided with Vincent's right cheek. Yuffie, still glaring at him, practically shoved his hand off of her shoulder and turned, her back to him. Vincent's cheek was burning; he didn't remember the last time someone had slapped him so hard.

_...Ouch. _Vincent thought to himself as he touched his cheek. _I guess I did deserve that, after what I said to her. _But funnily enough, he wasn't mad at her. Nor was he immediately wrapped up in his usual self-loathing. He just wanted her to understand.

Vincent had thought many times on the walk over to the Seventh Heaven about what he would say to Yuffie. He knew she would need more of an explanation. But what explanation could he give her? It wasn't like he could tell her – or anyone else for that matter – what had happened with the Spirits. Not only would they most likely not believe him, it was so deeply personal that Vincent didn't really want to share it with anyone yet. Maybe in the future, but not now.

Yuffie still had her back turned on him, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. She was visibly shivering. Without another thought Vincent set the bag down, took of his cloak and draped it over her shoulders. Yuffie didn't acknowledge this, but she did wrap the cloak tight around her shoulders. Vincent took that as a good sign.

Vincent began talking slowly, gathering his thoughts together. "I know hearing me talk is probably the last thing you want right now. And I know that you probably don't want to talk to me ever again. But at least hear me out, just this once." Yuffie let out a small grunt, which Vincent took as a sign to continue. At least she wasn't screaming at him anymore.

"Yuffie...I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I pushed you away, that I pushed everyone away. I guess I was just...scared." At this, Yuffie looked over her shoulder at him in surprise.

Vincent continued: "There were some..._things_ that happened to me a long time ago. Horrible things. Things I still don't want to talk about out loud." He took a deep breath, hushing his rising anxiety at confessing these fears. "I was so angry about it all. That anger ate away at me for decades. I...I didn't want to get close to anyone because I didn't want to hurt anyone."

At this point, Yuffie had fully turned towards him, hugging his cloak around her small frame. She looked a bit confused, but her dark eyes shone with what Vincent hoped was understanding.

"At least, that was my original purpose," Vincent said to her. He felt so emotionally exposed right then that he wanted to look away from her. But he wouldn't let himself do that this time. "but over time it just turned into not wanting to deal with anyone or anything. So I shut myself off from you and everyone else." He hastened to add, "I know that's not an excuse for treating you and everyone else the way I did. I'm not trying to excuse myself. I'm just...trying to explain." He finished lamely.

For a while there was nothing but the muted sound of the talking from inside the bar. Yuffie looked at Vincent curiously. Anger wasn't prevalent on her face anymore; if anything, she looked like she understood.

"Vincent," she finally said, her voice much softer than before, "why didn't you just tell me that in the first place?"

Vincent sighed. "Because I didn't want to." After a moment he added softly, "But I'm willing to now." And that was the truth of it all: where once Vincent didn't want to talk about anything, he wanted to now. He knew he couldn't tell Yuffie or his friends everything. Not yet, anyways. That would come with time, and Vincent hoped that they understood that.

It was a small step, but it was a start. That was better than nothing.

"I don't think I've ever heard you sound so sincere before," Yuffie joked. "it's a nice change. And I gotta admit, your hair looks nicer like that." Her voice turned serious as she added, "But...I do appreciate your apology. And while I don't know everything, it's nice to know that we're friends again." she smiled up at him. "I've missed you, Vinnie."

Whereas the nickname Yuffie once gave Vincent bothered him, it made him smile now. "The feeling's mutual." Vincent picked up the bag from the ground and reached inside of it. Once his fingers wrapped around Yuffie's boxed present, he pulled it out and held it in front of her.

Yuffie's eyes widened. "For me?" she asked, dumbfounded. Upon seeing Vincent's nod she gently took it from his fingers. She carefully opened the lid to the small box and gasped.

"Vinnie, this is amazing!" she exclaimed, pulling out the scarlet SHIVA Materia and holding it up. "Where the heck did you find this?!" Before Vincent could reply, she had wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. "I've been looking for this for forever! Thank you!"

It was a total reversal of what had happened earlier: instead of slapping Vincent and shouting at him, she was hugging him and saying thank you. _Well, that's Yuffie – up and down as ever, _Vincent thought to himself. Hesitantly he wrapped his arms around her small form. How long had it been since he had had a hug? Vincent didn't remember, but it felt nice.

Neither of them broke the embrace for a moment. When Yuffie finally pulled away, Vincent saw that her cheeks were pink. "Sorry," she said in an awkward tone of voice. She looked at the Seventh Heaven and said, "Looks like they're ready to eat. Let's go! I'm starving." She took a few steps forward, stopped and looked back at him. With the snowflakes coating her hair, his cape on her shoulders, and a smile that lit up her whole face, Yuffie didn't just look pretty.

She looked beautiful.

"Thank you again for this, Vinnie," she said, holding up the Materia. "Thank you so much."

Vincent smiled as he followed her back inside. The warmth of the bar was pleasant on his cold skin. He quietly slipped through the crowd, towards the back of the bar. At the foot of the steps leading upstairs, Vincent drew the DELAY-ESUNA, now wrapped in a small box, on the bottom step. A simple tag on it read, _Use it well. _And there he left it, hoping that Tifa, Cloud, or Denzel would take notice of it.

Christmas dinner at the Seventh Heaven was a simple yet welcoming affair. Everything was delicious, and Vincent found himself engaging in small conversation with his friends. He congratulated Shera when she informed him of her pregnancy (despite him already knowing), felt himself smile at the stories Cid told, and even interacted a little bit with Denzel and Marlene. Marlene, who once thought Vincent as a "scary man" chatted with him happily about various things. Whenever he caught one of his friends alone he gave them his small gift. Their reactions were all the same: shock, followed by gratitude. When they said, "Thank you," Vincent knew they meant it.

Upon putting his dishes in the sink, Vincent heard a voice behind him. "What made you change your mind?" Vincent turned to see Cloud standing there, looking at him in interest. "I mean, usually your mind is set when you make a decision. What happened?"

Vincent simply shrugged and said, "It was time to make up for lost time, I guess." Cloud gave Vincent a small smile before returning to the table for some pie.

After the last of the pie had been eaten and the majority of the dishes were done, Vincent bid them all goodbye and made his way to Reeve's Christmas party. He assumed it would be in the Shinra building, and he soon found out he was correct: there were lots of cars in the parking lot, and even outside Vincent could hear music playing.

If there was anything that Reeve, the Turks and Rufus Shinra knew how to do well, it was parties. Even as a former Turk a long time ago, Vincent remembered the elaborate parties and get-togethers they would hold. As Vincent walked inside, he saw a small string quartet in the corner playing Christmas carols. There were numerous tables of sweets and slices of different pies, and endless glasses of champagne. The crystal chandelier above them glistened in the light. Garland, lit candles and holly were covering nearly every surface. There was even some mistletoe hanging over a few doorways.

Vincent immediately began searching for Reeve. There were so many people, however, that it was nearly impossible to tell where his friend was. "Excuse me," he asked a waitress going by carrying some plates of pie on a tray, "Where is Reeve at?"

"Mr. Tuesti?" the girl said, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. "I just saw him a moment ago. Let's see..." she glanced around before pointing to the right. "He's just over there, talking with Mr. Shinra."

"Thank you," Vincent replied.

"No problem!" The waitress said cheerfully as she continued across the floor.

"Hey there, sweet thang!" Vincent heard a drunken voice say. He looked over his shoulder to see Reno following the waitress. "Ya got some more pie for me?" The waitress simply rolled her eyes and made her way through the crowd.

The closer Vincent approached Reeve, the more his anxiety grew. It was true that none of his other friends had turned him away, but how would Reeve react? Reeve was one of his oldest friends, and perhaps the one that knew Vincent the best. Would he be mad at Vincent, too? Despite these worrying thoughts, Vincent continued forward towards him.

Reeve had just taken a sip of the glass of champagne he held in his hand when he noticed Vincent. He lowered his glass in surprise before smiling widely. He set the glass down on a table while walking towards Vincent.

"Vincent!" He said exuberantly. "So good to see you! I thought you told me you weren't coming!"

Vincent shrugged. "I changed my mind."

"Well, I'm glad you did." Reeve said with clear sincerity.

"Vincent Valentine," a smooth voice said from behind Reeve. Rufus Shinra emerged from the crowd towards them. He lifted his own glass of champagne. "Always good to see a former employee." When Rufus wasn't looking, Vincent could see Reeve roll his eyes slightly.

"We've gotta do something about Reno," a new voice said from behind Vincent. Vincent turned to see Rude, his usual cool demeanor replaced by a frustrated one.

"Why? What's wrong?" Reeve asked, concerned.

"He's drunk and won't stop hitting on that one waitress," Rude explained, gesturing to his left. Sure enough, the redhead was still following the brunette waitress around like a lost puppy. By the clench of her jaw Vincent could tell she was getting annoyed.

"She looks like she can handle herself," Reeve said, although his voice did show concern. "If things get too out of hand I'll take care of it."

Rude, upon noticing that Vincent was there, simply gave him a nod in greeting. Vincent nodded back politely as Rude took off, hoping to get his partner into shape.

"Oh, look over there!" Reeve suddenly said excitedly. Vincent looked to where Reeve was looking at to see Elena and Tseng chatting while sipping champagne. Both were smiling, and neither of them seemed to notice the mistletoe hanging above their heads.

"About time." Rufus said with a slightly annoyed sigh.

"The mistletoe was my idea," Reeve said proudly. "Those two have been dancing around each other for too long, although Rufus said no at first."

"There's no relationships allowed within the company, you know that." Rufus said defensively.

"What kind of relationships?" Reeve asked.

Rufus seemed unprepared, like he didn't have time to come up with a snappy comeback. "Relationships I don't know about." Vincent swore he heard someone snicker at his comment.

"But I did it anyways," Reeve said, completely ignoring Rufus' comment. Vincent knew what Reeve was discreetly trying to say by telling him all these details: he had missed him and was glad to have him back. Vincent felt the same.

There was a sudden outbreak of laughter from the crowd. Reeve, Rufus and Vincent looked towards the dessert table to see Reno, his face completely covered in berries, whipped cream, and pie crust. The waitress he had been so avidly chasing, it seemed, had finally snapped. She held an empty plate in her hand.

Upon seeing Reeve and Rufus looking at her, she went pale. "I'm so sorry!" she shouted over the laughter. "I just—I was just-"

"You're fine," Rufus said with a wave of his hand. "It's Christmas."

"He did deserve it," Reeve added thoughtfully. Vincent watched as Reno tried to wipe off the pie, only to end up licking it off of his fingers.

He and Reeve talked well into the night, and even Tseng stopped by to say hello. Reno, even in his drunken state, seemed to recognize Vincent. After a while, Vincent bade them goodbye as well and made his way back to the Seventh Heaven, where Tifa said she had set up a place for him to sleep earlier. She wouldn't take no for an answer, and Vincent finally relented to her offer.

As he walked back, fresh snow began to fall. For the first time in years – decades, even – Vincent Valentine felt content. And he somehow knew that the feeling would last. Thanks to the visits from his father, Aerith, and even Hojo, he knew and felt that he was a changed man. Where there was once a hard, bitter, frozen heart, it was now soft and warm. He knew now that the past didn't matter, the present was a gift, and that the future was hopeful. And yes, there surely would be hard times ahead...but this time around, Vincent was ready for them.

**Authors Note: And there you have it! Fun fact: that brown haired waitress that had a few lines that Reno was chasing? That was me! I thought it would be fun to do a little author cameo. Seriously, thank you all so much for reading this, and thank you for the constructive advice! I'm so glad you all enjoyed it. There will be more stories coming, I just need to get a few more details fleshed out. **

**On a more personal note, this story is also about my own personal journey with healing. I too was once bitter, sad, and so angry and hurt that it scared me. I wasn't exactly visited by three Spirits, but I found my way out of it. And I am never going back to how I once was. Through rigorous counseling and forms of therapy, I was able to move past those things that hurt me. Was it hard? Heck yes! I wanted to give up so many times. But seeing where I am now, it was so worth it. Guys, healing IS possible. Becoming whole again IS possible and very real. That's the whole point I was trying to tell with this story about Vincent, because Vincent is someone who has been through so much (like me) and just needs to heal and move on from the past. **

**Anyways, I'll get off my soapbox now, lol. Love you all! **


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